


In the Hands of the Sith

by PhantomFox



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: A Jedi Falls to the Dark Side, Accidental Plot, Aftercare, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BDSM Trappings, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad Puns, Break The Jedi, Breath Control, Breathplay, But Sith Aftercare, Caning, Canon-Typical Violence, Clitoral orgasms, Come Eating, Creampie, Desk Sex, Electrical torture, F/F, F/M, Face Slapping, First Time, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Choking (Star Wars), Forced Eye Contact, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Interrogation, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, My idiot child, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Old Republic Era, Oops I Made Plot, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Orgasm Torture, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pick a Sith War, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post torture Snuggling, Pressure point play, Psychological Torture, Public Humiliation, Punishment not Funishment, Puns & Word Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Seduction to the Dark Side, Shower Sex, Sith Shenanigans (Star Wars), Sith being Sith, Slavery, Tags Are Hard, That's Not How The Force Works, The Dark Side Does Not Require Consent, The sugar is drugged, The tea is drugged, Threats of Slavery, Torture, Torturers To Lovers, Vaginal Sex, Whump, age gap, body betrayal, but subtle age gap, for everything, forced come eating, gently roasting cannon and carving the juicy bits, it snuck in i swear, kinda? i guess?, master/slave if you squint, noncon/dubcon, sith fuckery, slavery mentions, so much sex, sort of sloppy seconds?, there is also
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-01-12 22:30:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 147,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomFox/pseuds/PhantomFox
Summary: There have been reports of recent Sith activity at a long-abandoned temple. Locals are reporting repair work being done on the outside, as well as dozens of Sith fighters and troops in the area.The Jedi Council have long known of this Temple to the Dark Side, and are now sending Sharya Moonchaser, a young Jedi Knight, on a mission to discover which Sith has found and claimed this temple.Sharya, meanwhile, is mourning the loss of her sister, who was last seen during an attack on the Jedi Enclave at Dantooine, and is seeking the Sith responsible for the attack, as well as any information she can find about what happened to her younger sister.Purely self-indulgent porn, and seeing what happens when you give a snarky, baby Jedi Knight to a sarcastic, possessive Sith Lord and a sadistic Mandalorian.7/9/2020; mental health is shit, this might go on hiatus. apologies.





	1. Captured

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hands of the Sith](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/530792) by Late Stage Infernalism. 

> Hello, this is your author speaking. 
> 
> This is, literally, nothing but porn that grew plot.
> 
> Originally inspired by a delicious, nsfw audio from Reddit, as read by u/Blueblue72 and written by u/LateStageInfernalism. Grab some headphones, it's hot.
> 
> There is, however, one line that made me bust a gut laughing. That line did not survive my adaptation.
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> oh gods, i hope the formating stays ok

  
  


_ It is time to hunt, Captain. _

The voice in her mind is silk over cold steel, and Nasaade grinned, lips curling up with predatory glee. Her blaster whines and dies with a faint click. The target she had been using is sizzling from too many hits in one area, the center bullseye glowing a hot cherry red.

“Yes, my lord,” she murmurs, before yanking the spent charge and replacing it with a fresh one. There’s a flicker in the back of her mind, and she feels the Sith pull his attention away from her.

Holstering her blaster, she leaves the firing range behind, boot heels clicking against the duracrete floor. She gives a curt nod to the four guards waiting outside the firing range, gesturing with her chin. “With me.”

Silent as the grave, the troopers fall into step behind her. 

Tucked away in her pocket is a slender leather strap, strangely heavy for its small size, given to her by Larec early this morning. In the same pocket is a short lead. Naasade feels the brush of it against her hand and warm pleasure runs down her spine, beginning to pool in her belly. She has been looking forward to this all night.

——

It has been almost a five day since she had gone through the dossier, and Sharya is too blinded by cold rage and old, still raw grief at the time to realize it, but the Sith temple is far too easy to get into.

As she had expected, all the major entrances on the vast, pyramid-like structure were guarded, as were the smaller delivery and patrol gates. By the time the west rising sun began to set, however, she found an old service tunnel that seemed to have been utterly forgotten. It took another three hours to fully search the temple walls, and come to accept that her best way into the stronghold was to use the sludgy, swampy tunnel, much as she disliked it. 

After slogging through almost twenty meters of cold, ankle-deep brackish water, she comes to the end of the tunnel. An ancient durasteel plate has been welded into place over the exit hatch, sealing it off and proving why this service tunnel was so neglected. Taking a breath, she leaned for a second against the plate, reaching for the force and taking strength from the immediate warmth that surrounds her.

_ It’s not too late to turn back_, she thinks almost wistfully. A bitter smile crosses her lips. 

Of course it was too late. 

Gritting her teeth stubbornly, she turns to face the wall, and places one hand against it, trusting in the force, concentrating on the other side.

Metal, dense and about six centimeters thick; lines of electrical power on either side of the entrance hatch, long-dead circuits from cold power lines. Water lines, one burst and leaking slowly into the service tunnel, creating the small swamp at the tunnel mouth. No life signs, but nothing that felt droid like, either.

Placing the open end of her lightsaber against the plate, she ignites the blade at full power, and begins cutting her way through. 

In a practiced maneuver, she quickly has half of a circle formed in the metal, catching the molten red edge in a force grip; disengaging the blade, she goes back to the starting point of her circle and ignites the lightsaber again. The remaining half circle drops into another force grip that she lowers to the tunnel floor, well away from her booted feet. Not letting the red-edged disc drop directly into the water just yet—she liked not having second-degree burns on her feet, thank you—she ducked into her newly created entrance.

The disc falls with a louder clang than she meant to make, glowing metal hitting stagnant water and hissing immediately into steam. Sharya doesn’t notice.

She’s choking on oppression, struggling to breathe against shock; she walked right into a wave of pain and suffering and rage that nearly dropped her to her knees. She stumbles, one hand darting to the wall, the other clutching at her forehead; it felt like a drill was trying to pierce her skull, darkness boring into her mind. Reaching for the force makes the needle-like pain worse, until she manages to build her shields thick enough that she doesn’t feel the misery surrounding her. 

By the time she can straighten, her skin is covered in a light sweat, and her internal clock had already counted down two and a half minutes. Swallowing, she wipes her face on a sleeve, and starts off at a quick, silent jog, force presence shielded heavily, her eyes darting along every millimeter of the hall.

Being inside the temple is so different than being outside that she feels as though she must have stepped onto another planet. The hallways are the same dull black durasteel other Sith buildings tended towards, the same glow panels and arches lining each branching corridor; other service hatches littered the walls and ceiling, air vents were evenly distributed along both sides.

It was so Sith normal she should have been bored by it.

Instead, she was fighting down a creeping dread that made her glare suspiciously at shadows, and the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Torment, despair, and terror were clouding the force so heavily it was starting to give her vision an odd grey tinge that she couldn’t shake away. Shadows seemed to lurk in the corners of her eyes, and crawled away when she turned her head to look. 

How could the Council not have mentioned this? How could they have not noticed the slime of this place, that the Dark Side had _ thrived _here?

The original wording of her mission had said that a dark side temple was suddenly being used again, that a Sith Lord had taken up residence there. What she had felt so far seemed a lot less like ‘residence’ and much more like ‘prison.’

_ What in the stars are they doing here? _She wonders as she comes to an intersection. 

Pausing to glance up and down both sides of the hall, Sharya closes her eyes and places one hand on the nearest wall, threading her awareness down the electric lines. Tracing out corridors with the force like this had been her favorite thing to do as an initiate, and the talent served her well now; within seconds, she knew this maze-like floor well enough to find her way back blindfolded. 

The room she wanted was one corridor to the left and two doors down, according to the draw from the power lines. She took the right-hand corridor and the fifth arch on the left instead, choosing the smaller, less guarded security panel to slice into; the other had spilled faint violence into the force, while this one—

She came to a jerky stop, and still the edge of her cloak had a new hole in it. Another blast just missed her, and she leapt back to avoid a third, ducking behind a corner. Peeking out from behind the edge, she saw a pair of twin turret guns hanging from the ceiling, already readjusting their aim.

"Of course there's turrets,” she grumbled, yanking her short cloak off angrily. “There's always turrets when I'm wearing something I _ like. _ It couldn’t have been patrol droids.”

Without fail, turrets always destroyed her cloaks. Sharya didn’t understand how, and it drove her master crazy, but her cloaks never survived an encounter with a turret gun. She might as well take this one off before it got more holes than she could fix. 

Shoving her cloak into a nearby service hatch and taking her lightsaber in hand, she then stepped out into the hall, in full view of the turret guns. The repair work she had noticed on the outside of the temple didn’t seem to have made it inside yet; there was a noticeable delay as the sights adjusted to her, before beams of light shot out at her. A split second before she would have been hit, her lightsaber blade flashed; the beams ricocheted back, melting one muzzle and splattering hot metal over the wall behind it. 

More bolts were coming at her, but Sharya quickly destroyed the three remaining guns, and was moving through the arched doorway into the next hall. 

——

When her comcall wasn’t immediately answered, Naasade waited patiently, knowing her lord would answer as he pleased. A soft beep of connection later, she heard a faint, disinterested grunt acknowledging her.

“I beg pardon, my lord,” she said smoothly, knowing her smile was heard in her voice. “We seem to have a slight situation on our hands. I believe you may recognize the Jedi that just entered your new home.”

“Really." His tone is bored, almost sarcastic, and still faint. Naasade feels her smile shift into a smirk.

“Yes, my lord. She bears a striking resemblance to your last apprentice.”

_ Much more interested now_, Naasade thought as she heard him shift; he was suddenly much clearer than before, and she realized he had probably grabbed the comlink from across the room with the force.

“Oh, I must see this,” he says, voice dark with predatory interest. “I trust you have already sent me the footage?”

Naasade’s smirk widens; as soon as she had noticed the similarities, she had directed the feed to his datapad. “It should be on your pad now, sir.”

Another faint shift, the soft taps of fingers on keys, and an indrawn breath.

“Oh, she is_ lovely_,” was murmured into the com. In a louder, more playful voice, he continued. “We should introduce ourselves; it could be the start to a family reunion.” 

Glee filled her, and she let her eyes drop closed in pleasure. His last apprentice had been fun to bring to heel, and so easy to manipulate. Still, there was business to attend to, and a Jedi to trap.

“How do you want to play this, my lord?” She purred, heat stoking higher inside her. The girl on the screen looked directly into the camera, but didn’t seem to notice it, and Naasade stroked her fingertips down the girl’s face before she turned away. 

Obligingly, the screen captured the image of the young Jedi, and she shifts, thighs rubbing together with delicious friction. “Bad Mandalorian, Worse Sith always seems to work on the average Jedi.”

He hums for a moment, while Naasade keeps track of her progress. Instead of getting lost in the maze-like halls that made up the many roomed behemoth, the girl was well on her way to the smallest security room on that level, as they had predicted.

What they hadn’t planned on was the Jedi taking a path that somehow avoided every guard and droid without anyone but cameras spotting her, and Naasade wanted to know how she managed to do that.

Finally, she hears a decisive tapping noise, and the Sith answered.

“That will serve nicely,” he said, sounding pleased. “However, don’t let on that you know who she truly is.”

Naasade barely holds back a sigh of pleasure and anticipation, and is about to answer when he cuts in.

“You are not allowed to break this one.” He turns chilly, and she ignores the fear that tries to affect her. She was too long used to his displays of temper to let it bother her, but there’s an edge to his voice that sours the warmth inside her. “Lira broke too easily under me and her mind suffered. Do the same to this one, and there will be consequences.”

Smile and good mood faltering, she manages to reply in the affirmative, feeling her mouth twist to one side in disgust.

“Yes, my lord. I’ll go... _ easy _on her,” she said, hating the taste of the word.

He chuckles softly, and surprises her when he replies with, “Not too easy, I hope. Jedi do love a challenge, after all. And one more thing.”

Smile back on her face, Naasade listens carefully, before slipping the commlink into her belt pouch and motioning the soldiers out of the commandeered security room. She had some programming to do and not a lot of time to do it.

——

Almost fifteen long minutes after she entered the Sith temple, Sharya was making a face at the slightly antiquated panel in front of her. Large swaths of the screen were corrupted, even if her tentative tapping was being recognized; she was going to have to manually slice it into her datapad, if she wanted to be able to read it. 

Slipping in between the wide support column and the wall behind it, she knelt and pulled her datapad from her belt pouch; she quickly set about removing the back panel of the device, and then turned to the support column. The inside of the panel turned out to have even older wiring inside it; the plasticine sheathes around the wires crumbled a little when she cut them. The metal under the sheathing turned out to be fine, however, and it wasn’t long before she was looking at a replica of the security panel. 

Bringing up the security feeds, Sharya begins typing, rapidly flipping through the feeds for each level, on the alert for any kind of troop movements even as she started to dig through files for information. There were several more levels that led deep underground, but before she can investigate that, something odd catches her eye. 

_ Meditation garden? _

That was. Odd. She scanned the page again, checking to make sure she hadn’t simply skipped a level. The meditation garden was listed in between sublevels six and seven, nowhere near the training salles or gymnasium where one would have expected it to be.

Curiosity and suspicions roused, she hesitates before opening it, not sure that she wanted to know what a Sith meditation garden looked like. 

_ Probably nothing but a bunch of carnivorous plants, _ she thinks uneasily, but finally brings up the feed.

Beings dressed in light-colored robes and carrying lightsabers at their waists are scattered across a circular garden, some studying or settled in poses of meditation, others simply laid out and enjoying the sunset just visible in the upper right corner of the feed. Sharya can feel the blood draining from her face at the innocuous scene; she has seen this garden before, been in it a thousand or more times, and she has seen this footage.

In a moment, the furthest wall will explode; people will jump up, confused and startled. In one minute and sixteen seconds, knights and masters will be moving towards the large crumbling hole now in the outside wall of the garden, lightsabers raised as padawans gather together, moving en mass to shelter. In one minute and nineteen seconds, a tall figure in black robes will stride through the smoke, red lightsaber blazing in the shadows. A female in mando’a style armor will step in behind him, a vibrosword in one hand and a sonic grenade in the other.

Less than ten minutes later, the footage will end, with twelve dead Jedi and five kidnapped padawans that they never recovered. 

Feeling her face pale further, Sharya started yanking the wires from her datapad and shutting down the device. She didn’t bother replacing the removed panel on the console, and shoved the hastily slapped together datapad back into her belt pouch before wiggling out from behind the console.

She needed to leave, and likely had less time than the full security footage to get back to her escape hatch.

As Sharya reached the door, something tugged at her awareness; not a nudge from the force, but something in her environment had changed. She froze, limbs going loose-jointed and ready in a split second; there was a faint, distinctive chirp as her foot shifted very slightly.

_ Oh fuck! _ Sharya’s eyes widened in realization and then she was curling into a ball, using hands and the force both to at least try and protect her hearing.

It didn’t help much; the blast rolled over her, a sonic explosion knocking her backwards in a moment she lost.

She blinks back into consciousness just as emergency lights begin flashing; deafened by the blast, she isn’t sure if the high pitched klaxon she’s hearing is in her head or from the warning system, and she almost doesn’t care. The ground is wanting to move beneath her and she can’t concentrate enough to stand yet. Dust and smoke still hovered thick in the air, produced by the continuing crackle of burning electrical components, and the force was too slippery to hold onto. 

Long seconds passed before she thought to move, to ignore sudden nausea long enough to raise her head and make sure she was still in one piece. She had been thrown clear across the room, and landed next to the security panel; her eyes tracked to the charred, crumpled tiles two meters from the doorway and the now-dead glow panels hanging from frayed wires above the mess. Sitting up proves possible, but the floor has taken on a gentle sway that might make standing difficult.

_ Who the hell puts a full-powered sonic mine in such a tiny room? _She thinks unsteadily, one hand cupping the back of her head and feeling for a lump; she finds it just as she begins to stand, and winces at the sharp pain. 

Sharya has fallen back to one knee when her lightsaber flashes, blocking a blaster bolt before she fully registered the sound. Her reflexes, at least, are still sharp; the bolt doesn’t hit, but is ricocheted harmlessly into the opposite corner of the room. 

Standing up proves impossible, however; Sharya has to scramble back on knees and one hand when she can’t convince the floor to stop moving. Her lightsaber is clenched tight in her right hand, and she makes it to the farthest corner just before heavy, armored shapes move through the door, blaster muzzles raised to sweep the room.

It’s easier to stand up with her back against the wall, easier to wait for her ears to stop ringing and for her connection to the force to stabilize. The golden glow of her ‘saber in the dim is drawing the armored shapes directly to her and, for a second, she’s puzzled, even as she keeps her ‘saber raised in a guard position.

They haven’t fired another shot. 

Four masked soldiers have surrounded her where she’s pressed herself into the wall, their outlines sharpening as dust and smoke is filtered out by the vents. Movement at the corner of her eye resolves into a slight figure in armor stepping through the door, her gaze locked on Sharya. 

In person, she had long purple hair pulled back in a high tail, an odd contrast to her olive skin and her eyes were the grey of frosted steel. The Mandalorian armor she wore was black, with faint gold and green stripes across the chest plate, but the distinctive helmet was nowhere in sight, revealing a sharp chin, high cheekbones and a delicate nose.

“Well, well,” the woman says, generous lips spreading in a cat-like smirk. “It looks like my little trap has caught a little mouse.” She tilts her head, eyes moving slowly over Sharya from head to foot. “And such a _ pretty _ little mouse, too.”

If grown men hadn’t been looking at her the exact same way since before Sharya had turned fourteen standard, she would have been unnerved; the woman’s gaze lingered uncomfortably long on her breasts and hips, before tracing her legs in an almost physical touch. It was only when the pink edge of the woman’s tongue came out to trace her lips lewdly that Sharya felt her shoulders tighten with unease.

“You know the drill, boys,” she said next, striding to the center of the small room and standing hipshot. Obediently, all four troops raised their rifles and backed away, leaving Sharya alone in her corner. Two soldiers stationed themselves on either side of the doorway, while the other two withdrew to opposing corners, blasters lowering to aim at her as they settled into place.

The woman reaches over her shoulder and draws a long sword from a sheath on her back; her entire stance changed with the move, going from lazy to predatory in one sweep of the blade. 

“Stun only if she looks like she’s running. Otherwise, back off.” Sword raised along her cheek, eyes going hard and narrow, the woman grinned coldly. “She’s _ mine. _”

Sharya felt a chill go down her spine; if she made a single move towards the door, she would be shot almost simultaneously by four different blasters.

It wouldn’t kill her, but she would be out for untold hours, and she didn’t want to stick around to see what would happen after. 

She turned a slight glare to the woman, who simply smirked back. In the attack on Dantooine, this woman had been able to kill three far more experienced knights, and one master by herself. Larec the Defiler had killed the others, moving so fast the cameras couldn’t keep up with the movements. Sharya’s chances of surviving just the mandalorian were not very good, and she knew it. Then again, her master always had lamented that she had a thick skull.

“Do I look like I’m running?” Sharya asked, pulling away from the wall and planting her feet solidly, lightsaber raised defensively. The woman could come to her, not the other way around.

Maybe by the time she got to her, she would be able to hold the force for longer than a few seconds, or at least have cleared the fog from her sight.

“Oh, you’re not wanting to run yet, little mouse,” she replied coolly. “But you will try. And I have orders not to let you leave the party.”

She wants desperately to ask what is meant by that, but the woman is already moving, darting forward, sword slashing across her chest; Sharya smoothly sidesteps the blade, force surging through her once more, and swings her lightsaber down on the woman’s extended wrist in a disarming blow.

The golden blade of her lightsaber meets unexpected resistance, sparks and then shuts down. 

Sharya curses, and tries to reverse her forward momentum, turning it into a clumsy fall on her ass, and has to scramble away from the woman as she turns, grinning widely. 

“That was pretty funny,” she says, moving towards Sharya once again. “But let’s try this again, shall we?”

The next few minutes of battle go roughly the same; Sharya retreating, ending up on the defensive as the woman’s beskar-made armor repeatedly kills her blade. 

Another of Sharya’s blows skitter across a shoulder pauldron instead of biting into flesh, and the golden beam spits out an angry spark before dying. The metal under her palms is growing hot, and a brief worry almost stops her in her tracks. If one of the power cells has been damaged by the blast, and now this repeated forced cycling, then it won’t take much more to rupture the cell, and then she would be too dead to worry about capture.

But then a gauntleted fist slams into the side of her head, and she crumbles, black spots dancing in front of her eyes. She lands on her side, and her head is throbbing, her stomach rolling in violent protest, but still, Sharya struggles back up to her hands and knees, ignoring the growing weakness in her limbs. A razor-sharp edge is slid under her chin, forcing her face up, and Sharya sends a dazed glare at the blurry figure in front of her, panting from the effort of staying conscious.

"Drop the saber, Jedi.” Coming from her, the word Jedi is a slur, the worst sort of filth, and Sharya fights off a shudder when the point of her sword threatens to part flesh. “I'd hate to have to cut your pretty little throat and have nothing to play with later."

The woman leans forward, a smile spreading her lips. “But, please. Do keep struggling. I _ like it _when my victims fight back.”

Sharya feels her blood run cold, but doesn’t release her lightsaber; the force is so far away, the vaguest sense of brightness swamped in shadow. Clenching her fists until pain dug crescents into her palms, she focuses on the new pain to ignore the nausea and dizziness from her second concussion of the day. It works, just enough that when the power cell finishes cycling a second later, Sharya can ignite her lightsaber in a vicious, knee-high sweep. 

Surprise sends the woman leaping backwards, cursing at the charred streak she left on the fabric of the under armor. She sends the woman a smirk of her own, feeling the force clearly enough that she can launch herself at the woman, reversing the hilt and slamming the solid, pointy pommel into the woman’s sword hand. 

Another curse, but instead of falling to the floor, the sword is snagged by her opposite hand, and the blade angled to catch her lightsaber before Sharya’s attack can land. Their blades lock together, and the woman’s free hand shoots out, catching hold of Sharya’s heavy braid and yanking her closer.

“You have such lovely eyes,” the woman says in a purr, close enough that her breath brushed Sharya’s cheek as she spoke. “Do you know how rare it is to see a natural-born human with violet eyes?”

“And how exactly would you know my birth status?” Sharya panted, before balling her fist with her middle knuckles extended and slamming it into a small gap in the woman’s armor, high on her flank.

It lands solidly, and the woman lets go of her braid, hand going to cradle her side with a gasp as she stumbles back a step. Sharya pulls away again, lightsaber raised in a tight two-handed grip. Behind her, she can sense the void of the door, nearly close enough to run to. 

“That,” the woman hissed, eyes narrowed to cold slits. “Was a good hit. If you had used the force, it might even have caved in my rib cage.” She released her side, and then rolled her shoulders, settling back into a guard position. “But you can’t use the force right now, can you?”

“I’m not going to answer that,” Sharya answers deadpan, blinking; sweat was beginning to roll down her temples and the salt stung at her eyes. “Why would I answer that, that’s a terrible idea.”

The woman rolled her eyes and then attacked, and Sharya was too busy trying not to die to smart off. She handled her sword almost like a lightsaber, but there was enough of a difference that Sharya kept getting thrown off; movements that usually came from a force user—wide sweeping arcs designed to accommodate plasma rotation—were instead quick darting movements that kept her off guard, knocking her back into using the most basic of lightsaber forms simply to avoid getting sliced to ribbons.

Behind her, Sharya could still sense the doorway, and the four blasters aimed at her back. She could almost use the force again, a thready current growing under her skin; all she needed was a few more moments, just long enough to concentrate—she was forced back one step, another—and her heel landed solidly on nothing. 

Sharya fell, realizing far too late that she’d tripped over the sharp edges of the new hole in the floor.

The back of her head hits tile and the world dropped away, leaving her in darkness.

Naasade blinked, and looked down to see the Jedi sprawled bonelessly on the floor, lightsaber extinguished but still loosely clenched in her hand. One eyebrow rose, but she sheathed her sword and began giving orders without taking her eyes off the girl.

“Shut down the alarms, alert cell block D to set up the containment field, and tell the patrols to hurry the hell up and find her craft.”

The soldier to her right saluted and went to the security panel; he took a wide path around her, keeping his blaster angled at the Jedi. Naasade ignored him, going around the boobytrapped tiles to kick the lightsaber hilt out of easy reach and kneel at the girl’s head. Peeling off her gloves, she quickly ran her fingertips into the thick honey blonde hair gathered at the back of the Jedi’s skull; she found two goose eggs, and another small lump on her temple.

At her touch, the girl stirred slightly, turning her head away from Naasade’s hand, brow wrinkled in a slight frown. Absently, she reached for the lightsaber, hooking it next to her belt holster before pulling a pair of binders from a pouch. The metal casing of the hilt was oddly rugged under her fingers, and she resolved to give it a closer look later. 

Up close, the girl’s button nose was even cuter, and her pink lips were parted as she breathed. At best, she was in her early twenties, Naasade guessed, and smiled.

The klaxons ceased as she finished settling herself across the girl’s hips, just in time for Naasade to hear a soft groan, and to see her eyelids flicker. Smirking, lust coiling inside her, Naasade gripped the girl’s wrists, pressing them firmly to the floor. She never really had been one to let opportunity pass her by.

“Wakey wakey, little Jedi,” she sang softly, before leaning down to kiss her.

Sharya woke slowly to a warm, heavy weight centered over her hips, and something soft moving against her lips. A light, wet flick of a tongue opened her mouth, and she moaned, heat beginning to flow sluggishly in her veins. It had been a while since she had a dream like this, and her first instinct was to enjoy it for a moment, before banishing it. She went to curl her fingers into cloth, but something was off. 

Her hands, normally free to grasp and touch and feel in her dreams, are being held down effortlessly at the wrist, and Sharya makes a tiny sound of confusion, her brow furrowing slightly. Her dream lover shushes her with a soothing kiss, tongue darting and tasting Sharya's open mouth until she relaxes again, body going limp with another soft moan. 

_ It’s one of those dreams, then _, she thinks, even as she’s shifted, arms pulled above her head. She goes with the movements, feeling a whine vibrate her throat; her dream lover’s lips part against hers in a smile. 

The pressure holding her left arm down leaves, and something closes around one wrist and then the other. She’s released and a hand curls into the hair at the back of her neck, tightening painfully before she’s jerked up by the grip.

Startled into yelping, she opens her eyes to find cold grey smirking back at her; horror claws at Sharya, and she recoils, shrinking back from the woman perched on top of her. She releases Sharya’s hair and stands, smirking down at her.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, pretty Jedi," the mandalorian says, before winding her fist into Sharya’s tunics and pulling her to her feet with almost shocking ease.

She stands clumsily, pulled off balance by the binders locking her wrists together; hands grip her upper arms, holding her up when her legs buckle from a sudden dizzy spell. Sharya’s blurry gaze finally sharpens enough that she can see the woman clearly, and fear creeps down her spine, sending a chill through her body.

The woman grins at the shudder, locking eyes with her; she was absently playing with a leather strap, one end weighted down with an age burnished metal buckle. Her shaky grasp on the force is enough to tell her that the thing is soaked in old terror and residual pain, and she desperately does not want that slender leather collar to touch her.

“You surprised me, Jedi. I was hoping for a bit more of a fight tonight,” she said conversationally, still threading the collar through her fingers. She takes a step forward, dropping one end, and nodding to one of the troops holding Sharya upright. “And what I want, I usually get. Hold her hair.” 

Eyes widening, Sharya tries to pull away from the mandalorian while ducking the hand going for her braid, shamelessly pleading as the thing is brought closer to her.

“No no no, don’t put it on me, keep it away,” she begged, trying to yank away from the hands holding her; but her hair is grabbed, and used to pull her head back, baring her throat.

Thin leather is placed around her neck, tightened, and the force disappears. 

It’s like losing a limb; she bites back a cry of loss, her body struggling to curl in on itself defensively. The brightness that she has known all her life is gone, like it never existed, and without the extra buffer of the force to shield her, Sharya can almost feel the darkness of the building begin ripping into her shields, and she frantically shores them up against it.

A sharp jerk at her throat drags her out of her head, and she shudders, eyes snapping open to see the woman holding a meter long leash in one fist. The other end has been clipped to the force inhibitor around her neck, and Sharya feels her cheeks flame with sudden humiliation even through her terror. The woman is smirking at her again, using the leash to pull Sharya close; she turns her head, trying to avoid the hand that strokes her cheek. 

“Welcome to the party; I’m Naasade, and I’ll be your hostess this evening.” 

——

Naasade sets a clipped, brutal pace as she leads the young Jedi to the main detention cells; behind her, she's stumbling as she jogs to keep up, and Naasade smirks, giving the leash in her hand a vicious tug. There’s a gasped curse from the Jedi, and heat coils in her stomach at the desperate huff of breath that follows.

When she comes to a stop at a nearby lift, the girl stands with her legs braced, head and shoulders bowed, shaking visibly as she pants for breath. Her cream-colored tunics are disheveled, coated in dirt and dust, and sweat is leaving clean streaks down her dusty face. The long, heavy braid of honey blonde hair is still in one piece, despite how Naasade had played with it during their little fight.

Frowning in thought, Naasade takes a step towards the Jedi, arms crossing, and slowly winds the leash around one fist.

She takes a bit to notice the growing tension in the leash, but finally the girl’s dazed violet eyes flick up, meeting Naasade’s gaze stubbornly. Those beautiful almond-shaped eyes are wide with fear, and are having trouble concentrating on her, but underneath is an anger that cheers her immensely. 

Good. 

Angry toys were much more fun to play with, even if she wasn’t allowed to play hard with this one.

One last, hard yank of the leash, and the girl is pulled off balance; Naasade’s free hand rises to catch her, palm and fingers curling at the base of her neck and bringing her to a sudden stop. The girl swallows hard, paling, but continues to glare at her and she smiles, allowing the heat in her blood to show in her half-lidded eyes. 

“Are you alright, pretty Jedi?” She asked, voice a soft purr. “I’m not moving too fast for you, am I?”

The girl surprises her; lips spreading in a grin, she answers brightly, “No, not at all. I was just thinking what a lovely stroll this is, although your decor kinda sucks.”

“Ooh,” Naasade hums happily. “A smart mouth, and pretty? It must be my lucky day.” She presses a swift kiss to the Jedi’s pink mouth, swiping her tongue through open lips; she can feel her body going tense under the creamy tunics, preparing to yank away even as her breath hitches audibly. 

Naasade’s hand on her neck curls a little higher, grasping the leather collar and keeping the girl in place; her other fist slams into the girl’s middle. The leash wrapped around her knuckles provides a cushion against a full hit, but the Jedi still goes limp from the force of the blow and begins folding at the knees, bowing over her fist with a ragged gasp of lost air.

Naasade glances up at the ding of the lift, and smiles, giving the collar in her hand a playful tug. “Our ride’s here, Jedi. Would you like a hand up?”

Struggling to draw a full breath, the girl is too busy gasping to say anything; her head is bowed low, and she can feel how hard the girl is shaking against her fingers.

A glance at the four soldiers surrounding them lets Naasade claim the lift when the doors open, and she shoves the Jedi into the corner farthest from the buttons, keeping a firm hold of the leash, but letting the length drop from her fist. She goes willingly enough, backing herself into the corner, keeping her head down and leaning heavily on the wall behind her, still panting. 

There's silence as Naasade inputs her override code, sending the lift straight to the cell blocks several floors below them. Then the silence is broken by a still breathless, raspy voice.

"You were there."

Naasade turns to regard the Jedi, smirking and leaning against the keypad, arms crossing and letting the leash drape between them. So, she had caught that. 

"Of course I was there," she said, deliberately misunderstanding. "I work those levels."

The Jedi shoots her a scowl. 

"I mean on Dantooine," she bit out, voice a growl. Naasade wonders if the girl knows how cute her intimidation attempt is, and allows herself to slouch down comfortably. The Jedi seemed infuriated by that, voice rising in a shout as she stiffens. “You killed them!"

"Hmm, Dantooine, Dantooine…" Mockingly, Naasade tilts her head, as if thinking, before snapping her fingers together. "Ah, yes, now I remember. Are you speaking of the party we had last year? It was very festive, and had so _ many _ guests." 

The girl strangles on her rage, spots of color forming high on her cheeks and her eyes flashing. She almost takes a step towards Naasade, before obviously rethinking it and stilling, her bound hands flexing.

"You killed _ twelve Jedi _ and you're calling it a _ party?!" _

"Pretty little Jedi," Naasade coos, pulling herself up to properly loom over the girl. She has a good two centimeters on her, and uses it to crowd her back into the corner of the lift, settling one forearm above the Jedi’s head and leaning over her.

Her face goes still, and Naasade can see the panic stirring in her violet eyes even as she tries to hide beneath a ragged mask of Jedi calm. Her other hand lands on the girl's shoulder, holding her against the wall in an iron grip that she cringes from. "I have killed _ dozens _ of your kind."

She steps even closer, swaying herself well into the Jedi’s personal space. The girl’s chest is rising and falling quickly, their breasts almost close enough to brush. Half a step forward takes care of the slight distance, and the girl stops breathing, eyes wide with fear.

"Therefore, I can call it whatever I want," Naasade hissed, before dipping her head down and sinking her teeth into the curve of that slender neck. 

Her surprised shout of pain reverberates in the lift, and bound hands shove at her, trying to push her away. Naasade steps back just before the expected headbutt connects and laughs; with one hand, she slams the girl against the wall by the throat.

"You would do well to remember this, Jedi," Naasade snarls, suddenly vicious as her hold tightens, making the girl choke and try to claw at her. The binders do their job, however, and she can't reach Naasade. "I hold no love for your kind, and the _ only _ reason you still draw breath is because my lord wished you to live. The nanosecond that changes, pretty Jedi? You will be mine, and I _ will _ make you suffer."

“Wh-who were y-you?” 

Naasade scowls, and lets the girl fall to the floor, shoulders pulling back as she stepped away, rage suddenly burning in place of lust.

_ Damn Jedi, _ she thinks, _ always too perceptive by half, even when being strangled. _

And apparently, this one knew mando’a well enough to understand the meaning behind her chosen name. Taking another step away so as not to give in to temptation and just finish strangling the girl, Naasade glared down at her. _ If the little bitch can still think, then I’m not doing my job properly. _

Clearly, Sharya’s distraction had worked.

Sending a fervent thanks to whoever was listening that she could breathe again, she took in lung after lungful of air, slowly curling her legs under her, but not daring to move to stand just yet. Naasade had stepped further away, and was glaring hard at her, free hand clenched by her side. At least it no longer looked like Naasade wanted to eat her, although she’s not sure she likes the cold, sudden rage she prompted any more than the lust.

“Your name,” she rasps out, coughing. Already cold eyes go glacial, but Sharya kept talking anyway, trying to hide how her hands were trembling. “Why are you no one?”

Once again, Sharya was yanked to her knees by the leash, and wondered how in the galaxy she could have forgotten about the cursed thing. Naasade leaned down, and whispered the answer in a cold, not quite sane voice. “Because the Jedi took everything from me. My home, my family, my village. _ Everything _. And when I thought I had nothing left to lose, they took away my career and my honor.”

She straightened, but kept the leash tight, holding Sharya’s gaze. “Luckily, the Mandalorians don’t care about your past. When you become a member of the clans, your slate is washed clean. I was able to regain my honor, if nothing else.” There was a fervent gleam in Naasade’s eyes, and Sharya struggled not to pull away in fear. “You're shaking again, pretty Jedi. Do I scare you?”

Telling the truth right now couldn’t hurt, right? 

Sharya took a deep breath and answered, “Honestly? Yes, a little.”

Naasade begins to smirk, but she continues, “Really, you had the opportunity to get a new name, and you chose ‘no one’? You could have picked literally any other na—”

Naasade’s palm hitting her cheek at high velocity made Sharya forget where exactly she was going with that joke, as well as how to maintain her balance; she fell hard into the wall behind her, and couldn’t stop a whimper when the back of her head hit metal, causing her vision to gray out at the edges.

She quickly tries to curl forward, but a hand fisting her hair shoves her head into the wall again. Sharya lets out another whimper when Naasade leans down, locking eyes with her, nostrils flaring with fury.

"Don't push your luck, Jedi," she hissed. "I was told to bring you in alive, not unharmed, and that leaves me a _ very _ great deal of leeway. Are we clear?"

Sharya has to swallow before she can answer, mouth dry. 

“Crystal,” she answers in a faint voice.

One last, painful thump against the lift wall and Sharya is left to sit trembling on the floor, silent for the rest of the ride. She didn’t dare look Naasade in the eye, keeping her head bowed instead; a part of her was wishing quietly she had never gone on this mission. She firmly told it to shut up. It was the only lead she had come across after a full year of searching.

The lift comes to a stop, and Naasade yanks Sharya to her feet by the front of her tunics without a word, all but dragging her down the crowded hall as soon as she was upright.

They pass uniformed soldiers as they walk, and at first, she struggles to keep her head up in the face of the leers tossed her way; almost all of the soldiers are men, and her face heats at the comments she overhears. One of them keeps eye contact with her until he passes her, his lips pursing in a kiss. She ducks her head, locking her gaze to the floor after that; the smug hatred in his gaze and the lecherous sneer he wore kept replaying in her mind.

The few female soldiers weren’t much better; a redhead with blue eyes greets Sharya with spittle when she recognizes her tunics for what they are. An ugly feeling of shame creeps into her, much as she tries to dismiss it.

Naasade doesn't stop until they reach a sealed bulkhead at the end of the corridor. 

There is a pause before the door opens onto a small command center; more dark plated halls branch off the rounded room, and armed guards stand at lazy attention at each hall entrance. Blaster rifles are held loosely across their chests until Naasade walks in, and then every soldier snaps to attention, and the officer in charge salutes, standing from his seat behind the wide, angled control console.

"Captain," he said, and Sharya looks up to see steel blue eyes and short, grey touched auburn hair over a thin, stern face. There are faint lines at his mouth and forehead, currently held in a neutral expression of respect. “Cell 308 is prepared for you, sir. Will you need any assistance with the prisoner?"

Naasade aims a grin at Sharya, and, tilting her head forward, clicks her tongue. The desire to resist is strong, but the threat from the lift is stronger, and, shoulders hunching a little, she edged forward until she’s standing next to Naasade, who reaches up to pet her on the head, a murmured, “Good girl,” making her cringe.

Attention shifting from Sharya to the officer, she continues, “I’ll be processing this one myself, but I have an errand to run first.” Fingers start combing through Sharya’s hair, and chills run down her spine at the touch and the words that followed, feeling her eyes widen in sudden terror. “Unfortunately, I can’t take my new pet with me.”

The hand in her hair clenches, and she’s shoved face-first over the top of the console with a surprised yelp, the sharp edge catching her painfully. Cool glass presses against her cheek and she gasps for air, bound hands scrambling for purchase against the console as she tries not to slide further down the other side; the edge of the console stands just high enough that her feet can’t quite touch the ground.

Face hot, she finally scoots back enough that her toes can reach the floor and lever herself up on her bound arms, fully aware of how she must look in this position; bent at the waist, legs trembling with the effort to stay balanced, and her rear pushed out, accentuated by close-cut leggings chosen for stealth. Panting, she starts to lower herself fully to the floor, only to stop when Naasade’s fingers tighten in her hair.

“I’m putting you in charge of her until I get back, Smith,” she then announced, tossing her end of the leash to the startled officer. “She should be quiet enough, but if she gives you any trouble, let me know.”

Beginning to shake, Sharya tries to lift her head further from the console, shooting a desperate, pleading look at the woman, lips parting. Panic at the thought of being left with all these men is quickly overcoming her fear of Naasade; the woman terrified her, yes, but she was a known variable, while the soldiers were unknowns, and could potentially do anything they wanted with little to no repercussions.

Naasade clicks her tongue scoldingly and presses down harder, making Sharya choke back a whine; her palm is directly on the bumps at the back of her skull, and stars are beginning to burst behind her eyes from the pain. “Now now, be good for the nice man. I’ll be back shortly, pet.”

Letting her hand loosen with a gentle caress, Naasade turns without a word and leaves. Heart beating wildly, Sharya clenches her eyes shut, struggling to follow the sound of Naasade’s footsteps; she had a faint, desperate hope that this was just a test to see what she would do when her captor supposedly left and that Naasade had simply retreated to the door to observe. 

The solid _ thunk _ of the bulkhead sealing shut makes her flinch, and she turns her face to the console, hoping to hide her humiliated flush.

_ Please leave me alone, please be more afraid of her than I am, _ she begged the force, hyper-aware of how many eyes were on her, and how many men were likely staring at her ass, leering…

A tug at her neck shocks a gasp out of her, and Sharya’s eyes shoot open to see that the officer, Smith, apparently, had stepped closer and was eyeing the leash in his hand with a slight grimace of distaste. He sighed a little and then looked at her. “Sorry about this, Jedi. Captain Naasade likes her games, and my lord likes to indulge her.” 

Surprised and shocked by the apology, she blinks, dropping to stand flat-footed at last, and straightening. Obeying without a word when he gives another tug on the leash, Sharya lets herself be led around the edge of the console, her eyes dropping to the ground. There’s a soft whistle as she passes a solidly built trooper with his helmet in one hand and his blaster resting against his shoulder. 

“Hey, baby,” he says when she refused to look at him. “Let me see those pretty eyes of yours.” 

She flinches slightly, steps quickening, and the soldier laughed. Looking up once they reach the far side of the chamber, she sees that a series of rings have been set into the metal at varying heights and pales, glancing back at the officer nervously. He shrugs at her, frowning, but he still reaches up and secures the leash to a ring well outside of her current reach. 

“Again, I’m sorry,” he mutters while he unlocks the binders from her wrists. “Standard procedure, you know. Turn around, hands behind your back.”

Stomach twisting, she turned, screwing her eyes shut and fighting down a wave of panic, hands shaking only slightly as she obeyed. She was so much more defenseless with her hands bound this way! The binders are locked back on her, and her eyes flinch open when a hand grabs her chin.

Expecting to see Smith, Sharya tries to jerk back when the soldier is the one tilting her face up to the light, stumbling into the officer still behind her with a gasp, voice freezing in her throat. 

“Damnit, man,” Smith curses, steadying Sharya with a hand on her shoulder, glaring at the soldier. “Do you _ want _ Naasade pissed at you? Because that is how you piss her off. Get back to your station, now.”

The man holding her chin just smirks.

“Standard procedure, didn’t you say?” He leans closer to her, voice dropping to a rumble as he shifted his grip, fingers sliding to curl under her jaw. “Heh. I thought your eyes were blue, but guess I was wrong. That purple is much prettier.”

Behind her, Smith clears his throat loudly; the soldier’s smirk fades to a scowl and he backs away, hands raised to show he wasn’t touching her. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” he grumbled, but the way his eyes lingered on Sharya as he turned to his station made her skin crawl. “See ya later, baby.”

Waiting to speak until the soldier is halfway across the room, Smith surprises her again. His eyes are following the man, the grip on her shoulder tightening a bit, and she hates that she doesn’t want him to leave her. “I’ll try to keep him away from you," he muttered softly. "But I suggest you stay quiet, and try not to draw attention to yourself. He’s the worst of the lot, but the rest aren’t much better.” 

Patting her once on the shoulder, he starts heading back to his station. Swallowing hard, she manages to force out the words; so far, this one officer is already the kindest person she’s met in this hell hole, and it couldn’t hurt to be kind back, even if it wouldn’t change her situation whatsoever.

“Thank you,” she whispers, before he’s out of earshot. 

There is a slight stumble to his step, but Smith continues without a word to seat himself behind the control console, and then she’s left alone.

It doesn’t take Sharya long to test the length of the leash, to find out that she can go a bare quarter meter in any direction before getting choked. There isn’t anywhere near enough slack for her to sit on the floor, and whoever designed this holding space didn’t include a handy bench for prisoners to sit on, and so she leans against the wall, shifting from time to time only for the excuse to move, stomping firmly on her fear as time stretches on.

There is no chrono in the command center. 

The only thing she has to mark the time is her own quickly fading sense of it, and Sharya had stopped trusting that in the lift. Her anxiety is made worse when she can’t settle her mind for meditation, her eyes snapping open at every thunk of the bulkhead opening, hoping for and dreading Naasade’s return.

She’s hyper-aware of the eyes on her, of the soft clicks of comms activating and voices whispering. A buzz of conversation rises and falls around her, but she can’t bring herself to listen.

The soldier keeps looking at her.

As soon as he had returned to his post, he had replaced his helmet, but Sharya can still feel him watching her as the endless minutes crawled by. She refused to acknowledge him, keeping her gaze straight ahead or at the ground just in front of her boots, trying to ignore how her shaking was getting worse, and how her heart kept pounding in her chest. 

A sudden _ boom _ and surprised shout echoing from the hall to her right startled her out of an intense study of her boot toes, head jerking up to stare down the hall. She doesn’t have much of a view, but she can see that the brilliant light is dimming, and a stench of burning circuitry is starting to waft into the control room. 

“What the hell is going on down there,” Smith roars as he stands from his console. 

Alarms begin blaring, and the officer curses, stride quickening as he disappeared down the hall. Mouth closing from where she had half opened it, ready to ask Smith to take her with him, Sharya can’t stop herself from following his retreating back as long as she could; his steel-blue eyes had been hard with reserved fury, and she had quickly decided that she didn’t want his attention in this state.

Suppressing a shiver, she leaned back against the wall, but didn’t let her gaze drop to the floor just yet, instead letting it settle in the middle distance between her and Smith’s console, trying to keep an eye on every person in the room at once. It even worked, for a short time; the guards were quiet until another boom echoed from the hall, and she jerked upright again, heart thumping. The second explosion was even louder, and she could hear muffled shouting; it was something about a droid, but the voice speaking wasn’t Smith.

As she turned back to the room, purposeful movement caught her eye, and she found herself staring at the soldier as he led a small group of guards to the wall where she was tied. Her heart stopped beating for a moment, and she drew in a ragged breath, trying to remember how to speak; he was smirking, looking her directly in the eye as he neared her.

Before she can force a scream from her frozen throat, a gloved hand clamps over her mouth and she’s shoved against the wall, her planned shriek turned to a soft, pitiful moan. Hands grab at her, lifting her up and forcing her legs to spread, held at the ankle and knee. The soldier is the one with his hand over her mouth, his helmet abandoned so she can see his face as he pins her with his weight; he was leaning so heavily against her that she couldn’t move, trapped arms quickly going numb.

“Well, ain’t that just fortuitous for us. Didn’t you believe me when I said I’d be back, baby?” He asked, grinning, his free hand sliding down her side to her waist, and further, cupping her rear and squeezing. “I couldn’t stay away from this ass if I wanted to.”

The touch of his hand on her helps to finally jumpstart her brain; even if she can’t scream, she could still try and fight, and she immediately starts trying to thrash free, despite the weight pinning her to the wall, glaring at him to try and force back her fear.

“In fact,” he said lazily, absently tightening his hold on her mouth as she bit viciously at thick leather. “I’m going to have to thank the captain for bringing you down here. Guard duty can be pretty boring with just these pricks around.”

The other guards snicker at that, their grips tightening when she tried to slam a heel into the soldier’s kidneys. 

“Never thought I’d get my hands on a Jedi,” one laughs, and she feels a hand move from her knee to the inside of her thigh, forcing her legs wider despite how she fought.

Taking advantage, the soldier presses his palm flat against her sex, fingers cupping all of her; offended rage makes her bite down even harder, finding vicious satisfaction in the soldier’s cursing when her teeth find flesh under the leather. His hold on her remains firm, however, and he slams her head against the wall. Stunned, vision blacking out as soon as she hit metal, her body goes limp long enough that the guard to her right can reach into her tunics and past her camisole, roughly squeezing her breasts.

“Just wait ‘til you feel these knockers, Gav,” he groaned, gloved hand reaching across and twisting her left nipple. “All-natural, grade A Jedi tits.”

The flash of pain cuts through the stunned haze, and she yelps into the hand over her mouth, eyes shooting open to see that the soldier is looming over her, a wicked grin on his face.

“I'm not worried about the tits,” he growled lustily, using his grip to force her head up and to the side, baring the column of her throat to him. “I’m just wanting to see how good her master broke in her throat, before trying out this hot little cunt.”

“And you better not bite again, baby,” the soldier whispered into her ear. “Good ol’ Smithy won’t be here all night, you know, and the boys will all want a turn. It’d be rude of me if I had to break your jaw before that happened.” 

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she chokes back a whine at the threat, eyes scrunching closed. The soldier chuckled darkly and moved closer, his hand between her legs shifting, pulling at her leggings; panic finally takes over and she tries to scream again.

A hard voice interrupts the soldier over the still blaring alarms, and Sharya feels like crying in relief when he lets go of her leggings, his hand dropping reluctantly from her mouth. She opens her eyes to see that Smith has come to her rescue, his blaster out and pointed at the soldier. He takes a step closer, and the guards holding her up loosen their grips, suddenly going very still and quiet.

"I may not spend all night here, Joren, but I am still in charge and you have still not learned to listen," Smith said silkily, the muzzle of his blaster pressing into the side of the soldier’s head. "Now put the Jedi down, and I might not shoot you."

Scowling, the soldier pulled back, keeping his hands raised; her legs are dropped, and she collapsed against the wall, struggling to keep herself from crying. Motioning with his blaster, Smith shooed the three away, glaring at them until they had passed into the central chamber. He didn’t holster his blaster until the soldier’s helmeted gaze was on the wall directly opposite him, and then he looked at Sharya. 

“I’m not subjecting you to the cells yet,” Smith explains as he moves, reaching up to untie the leash from the ring. “The captain will want that ‘pleasure’ herself. I am moving you though, at least out of sight.”

His eyes are apologetic when it turns out he was talking about the floor next to his seat at the control console. 

At least she can sit down now, and be out of the soldier’s sight, even if she’s leashed to a chair like a dog. 

If Smith notices her slight sniffling, or the barely-there shaking of her shoulders, he’s polite enough not to say anything.

——

Sometime later, Smith’s hand comes to rest on her shoulder. It’s all the prompting she needs to come back to a state of wakefulness, blinking open gummy eyes and lifting her head from where it had fallen to rest against his knee. 

She hadn’t meant to pass out, but her body apparently decided it needed a nap. Sharya did feel slightly better; her fear and panic had dropped to manageable levels, and she didn’t feel like she was going to shake apart anymore.

Rather, she didn’t, until she remembered what Smith waking her would mean. Her heart pumping faster, Sharya took a moment to panic very, very quietly, biting viciously at the inside of her cheeks to keep silent when all she wanted to do was cry, and maybe scream a little.

Her moment ended when the bulkhead slid open, and she took a deep breath, burying her emotions as quickly and deeply as she could.

The sharp rap of boot heels on metal stop almost as soon as they enter, and Sharya can’t stop a shudder at how cold Naasade’s voice is when she speaks.

“Tell me something, Smith,” she hissed out. “Where is my pet Jedi, and why is she _ not _ chained to the wall?”

“Apologies, Captain,” Smith replied mildly. “Some complications arose when I attempted to follow standard procedure, and I had to relocate the Jedi to a safer area.” 

“And where did you relocate her to, hm?” Naasade’s tone had dropped to a dangerous purr. “A broom closet? A personal holding cell? Or perhaps under your desk?”

“Yes, actually,” he said, bold as you please, and Sharya could just about hear Naasade blink at that. “Some of the men have forgotten how to listen, and I thought it best not to tempt them to further idiocy than already committed.”

“Really.” Her voice is flat as she speaks, her boots appearing at the edge of the console as she steps around it. 

Sharya looks up to see that Naasade has changed out of her armor, and into something a smuggler might wear: a green shirt is tucked into dark thickcloth trousers, and a long, well worn black leather jacket hugs her shoulders. A blaster is still holstered at her thigh, but her hair is in a low tail, revealing a long fringe that frames her face, currently twisted into a scowl.

Next to her, Sharya feels filthy, and small, and vulnerable, and she managed not to whimper, or flinch back, when Naasade’s hand reaches out to pet her cheek. Keeping her face still turns out to be the easy part; as soon as Naasade had turned the corner, her heart started thumping harder in her chest, and her breath came quicker. She has to force herself not to pull away from the touch, letting her head be tilted up so Naasade can examine her face with cool grey eyes, but her next words are directed to Smith.

“And what _ exactly _ gave them the idea that they could touch my pet?”

The faint background hum of com chatter comes to a quiet halt at that, and Sharya doesn’t need the force to feel the mounting tension or to know that every eye is locked on Naasade and her. The soldier (she refuses to use his name, even in her thoughts) is staring at her, gaze like a knife against her skin and she shudders again, relieved when Naasade’s hand moves to brush loose hair from her face, freeing her to look at the ground once more.

Smith finally snorts, and replies dryly, “If I knew that, my job would be far easier than it is.”

Naasade grunts, before turning to address the room at large, a cold glare on her face as she looked at every helmeted head, her voice hard. 

“If I had wanted help breaking my pet, I would have handed her directly to you louts. As it is, I gave her to Smith. To be kept from you.”

Her voice dropping to a purr, she continued, “If this ever happens again without my permission, I’m taking trophies. Am I making myself clear enough for you idiots?”

There’s a loud chorus of “Sir, yes sir,” and Naasade smirks.

“Good.”

Turning her attention back to Sharya, the smirk turns heated.

“On your feet now, pet,” she croons, her eyes going half-mast as she took the leash back from Smith. “It’s playtime.”

Unable to stop another shudder, she clambers to her feet when Naasade tugs on the leash, wincing at the pins and needles sensations in her feet and calves. She’s led down the brightly lit hall to the left of where she had been tied up, blinking sharply at the change in light; the main chamber of the cell block was dim compared to this hall, the metal of the floor polished to a high sheen that reflected the brilliant light back into her eyes if she looked down.

Sharya ends up being blinded long enough that she can’t see the code Naasade enters into the keypad when they stop, growling under her breath when she has to rap her fist against it. The light over the keypad flickers stubbornly before switching from red to green, and the door opens with an ominous creak.

Distantly, she wonders if the creaking noise was meant to be there or not; what she could remember about torture techniques could currently fit into a thimble, despite her master’s thorough preparation for how to survive torture and interrogations. If it was intentional, then it worked very well; she jumped at the sound, heart in her throat, while Naasade let out a soft, evil chuckle, before tugging her into the dark cell by the leash.

Her eyes are useless again, and something stabs her in the arm before she can adjust to the dark of the cell. She jerked away, but Naasade’s grip was firm on the leash, and the door closing behind her blocks off her escape, leaving her no choice but to press against the door as her heart starts racing. 

“What the fuck,” she gasped out as she begins shivering, “did you just give me?”

She can almost see again, well enough that Naasade’s feral smile sends a cold shudder down her back. Or maybe that’s just the drug working its way into her system; her skin is suddenly too sensitive, to the point that her soft tunics are itching against her, and heat is flooding her, leaving her flushed.

“Oh, just a little something to make the night more interesting,” Naasade purred, stepping forward, eyes alight with malicious glee. “It should be kicking in right about now. How are you liking it?”

_ I don’t, _ she wants to retort, but her teeth are trying to click together, and she clenches her jaw shut, hoping Naasade won’t notice.

Her hopes go unanswered as Naasade gets even closer, one hand rising to curl around the back of her neck; the heat from the drug ignites at the touch, and Sharya bites down on a whine when it pools low in her stomach.

“Don’t worry, pretty Jedi,” Naasade whispered, “it’ll feel much better, very soon.”

Her skin is so sensitive that a shift of the light touch on her neck makes her gasp; the firm press of lips against hers, moving and tasting Sharya’s open mouth, causes a groan to escape her, even as she wanted to wail in horrified dismay. Naasade’s body suddenly resting against hers from knee to shoulder is enough to send pleasure shooting through her, breath catching on a moan that Naasade swallowed.

What was she doing?!

Breath coming short and fast, Sharya tries to shake her head free, only to moan again when Naasade digs fingers into her hair and tugs playfully. A fire was burning inside her, and her sex throbbed in time with her racing heart.

“And yes, my pretty Jedi,” she crooned, bending to kiss the hollow of Sharya’s throat. “I know exactly what those bad men tried to do once I left.”

Panic tries to rise at the reminder, but the kiss has stolen her attention; Naasade keeps speaking into her skin, and the vibrations are enough to make her whine helplessly.

“I was hoping they wouldn’t be that stupid, because their stupidity means I get paperwork,” Naasade murmured, lips brushing Sharya’s throat lightly. “And I hate paperwork.”

“You see,” she continued, moving to nip at her jaw. “Those ham-fisted idiots out there think the only thing that matters,” she paused, unclipping the leash and letting it fall to the cell floor, running her now free hand down Sharya’s quivering abdomen, stopping just short of her sex. “Is the heat between a woman’s legs. They don’t think about the woman herself; they just use her until they finish, and then go on to the next hole to fuck.”

“But I know that some women _ like _ that,” Naasade growled softly, hand moving to cup her completely, echoing what the soldier had done. “Not every woman, of course, but there’s just enough that those assholes can get away with it. Are you one of them, pretty Jedi?”

Teeth close on the join of her neck and shoulder, pressure increasing until she wanted to scream; her body was out of her control, however, and she could only gasp weakly as pleasure shot through the pain, making her knees weak. Gentle swipes of a tongue soothe the hurt, but she can feel the hands of the guards on her again, vivid enough that she whimpers, struggling to curl away from Naasade.

“N-no,” she manages to get out, “I d-don’t want that, not…” 

“Hmmm, are you sure, pet?” The hand cupping her shifts, two fingers lightly running up and down her slit through her leggings, over and over, and Sharya feels tears prick at her eyes; the fabric of her leggings is gliding effortlessly along her, already slicked by her own juices. “Because it looks to me like you _ do _ like being taken. If only you could have heard yourself earlier; you were moaning like a bitch in heat from a single kiss.”

Clenching her eyes shut just makes the words and touches worse, but she can't stand to keep them open; the hand buried in her hair tugs her head back up when she tries to duck down, keeping her still as Naasade slips her tongue into Sharya’s mouth. A pleading whimper escapes her when the mandalorian finally pulls away, leaving her panting for breath, shamed, horrified tears slipping from under her eyelids.

“Please, don’t,” she begged, hating how breathless and husky she sounded. 

“Shhh, sshhh, it’s alright,” Naasade chuckles softly, making a mockery of the soothing words. Another kiss is pressed to her lips, a teasing flick of tongue causing her breath to hitch. “Don’t be scared, pretty Jedi. I know it’s hard, but I need you to remember something for me.”

Voice a low murmur, Naasade tilts Sharya’s head enough that she can whisper into her ear. “I’m just getting started.”

Hand moving from the Jedi’s soaking leggings, she pressed firmly against the crease of her hip, feeling for—there. A shocked cry and the Jedi was curling into her, shaking as Naasade forced her harder into the closed door, thumb rubbing hard at the sensitive pressure point there.

“Do you know,” she said softly, once the girl had stopped thrashing, chest heaving for breath; her fingers moved to the opposite hip, triggering the same point and dragging another shout from her. “How easy it is to confuse the human brain? A bit of oxytocin, a pinch of serotonin, some nitrogen oxide and a prolactin blocker, and you get yourself a little drug that makes it easy for you to cum, but does nothing to satisfy you.”

“Oh-oh-please—“ Voice breaking, the Jedi bit her lip and turned her head away; Naasade allowed it, releasing the slowly unraveling braid to cup the girl’s jaw and pull her into a long, deep kiss.

Moaning in despair, Sharya couldn’t stop herself; her mouth opened under Naasade’s gently probing tongue, the hot slick of it sending fire through her veins. When she finally pulled away, Sharya was sobbing dryly; the tops of her thighs were dampening quickly under her leggings, despite how much she didn’t want this. “Sto-ah!”

Circles were rubbed into her chest, just above her breasts, and it sent lightning through her, cutting her off mid protest.

“Tricking your survival instincts is pretty easy, too,” Naasade continued, warm hands pushing her tunics aside to caress bare skin. “Fighting and fleeing are incredibly close together, and so is fucking. Almost the same physical responses, too.” A brief pause, tongue licking along her collarbone as she shuddered. “Between my little drug and your fight or flight response?”

“Well,” the mandalorian said, a wicked gleam in her grey eyes as she looks up at Sharya. “I can guarantee that at least _ one _ of us is going to have fun.”

Her head dips down and another kiss is pressed to the hollow of her throat; she’s too horrified by the words to get lost in the vibrations across her skin, even when teeth scrape along the bite marks on her neck.

“You have to decide how best to survive right now,” she paused, and Sharya felt lips spread against her skin in a smirk when she can’t stop a soft whine. “Well, not you, not anymore. Your body is the one deciding this. Fighting would only get you in trouble.”

“Flight isn’t possible.” A tug on the leather collar at her neck. “All that’s left is to be sweet and pliant and fuck to survive. Your body is going to betray you, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

The weight pinning her to the door abruptly leaves, and Sharya’s trembling legs can’t support her; they collapse as soon as Naasade steps away, leaving her sprawled on the dirty floor of the cell, chest heaving as she struggled with her tears. 

The mandalorian’s gently condescending words are echoing in her mind, and the heat from the drug made it difficult to think past the haze of fear, and Sharya desperately wants to go home. Fingers under her chin force her to look up into amused grey eyes, and she doesn’t bother trying to stop herself. 

Swallowing another sob, Sharya blinks back tears and glares at Naasade. 

“Fuck you,” she gasped hoarsely, flinching at the pleased chuckle.

“That’s the spirit, pretty Jedi,” the mandalorian purrs, one fist twisting into her tunics. “Now get on your feet, and turn around.”

When Sharya refuses to move, Naasade yanks her up by the grip, so fast that she almost trips over her own feet as she’s shoved face-first against a wall. Turning her head so her nose doesn’t break on impact, Sharya’s surprised when the binders are removed from her wrists; not stopping to think, her hands immediately dart to her neck to search for the clasp of the force inhibitor. She can’t stand this muffled numbness much longer, and she’s desperate to have the force around her again, even with how dark and foul this place is. 

An iron grip snags the hair at the back of her head, and Sharya freezes, fingers half curled around the collar.

"Ah-ah," Naasade tsks, pulling her head back slightly. "You touch that again and I will break every bone in that hand."

Swallowing, Sharya nods wordlessly, letting her hands drop to her sides and allowing herself to be pushed back up against the wall. Her hands are pinned next to her head with a threatening “Don’t move,” whispered in her ear; Sharya’s muscles tighten until fine tremors run down her back when Naasade’s hands slide down her arms in a caress. 

Her touch lingers on her shoulders for a moment, thumbs rubbing circles into tense muscles and leaving bruises in a parody of comfort. The heat inside her still hasn’t abated, and was burning higher with every touch; as lightning shot through her again, she wondered desperately if it ever would, biting her tongue to keep from crying out.

“Relax,” the mandalorian murmurs, tone soft and gloating. “This won’t hurt me at all.”

The back of Sharya’s tunics are grabbed, pulled tight against her; fabric tears, and she can’t stop herself from jumping at the sound. Her feet are kicked further apart by a booted foot, and far too familiar hands stroke down her back, spreading her torn tunics open, and baring her to the chilly air of the cell.

Naasade makes an intrigued noise, and Sharya feels the knife between her shoulder blades being drawn out of hiding. 

“You have excellent taste in blades, pretty Jedi. I think I’m going to keep this.”

Cold metal is laid across her spine, and she stops breathing; the edge of the blade is slowly dragged along her skin, pressing almost hard enough to draw blood. Knowing exactly how sharp her knives are, Sharya doesn’t move, barely dares to breathe as Naasade uses the tip of the blade to trace ice edged patterns into her back, the pressure varying unpredictability.

“I used to work with Jedi, you know,” Naasade said musingly. She paused, using the tip of the knife to nudge a sleeve lower on Sharya’s shoulder, deftly avoiding the thin strap of her camisole. “I know exactly how much pain the average Jedi can take. I know how they are trained, and how they think.”

The opposite sleeve is sliced open to her elbow and she flinched from the cold, eyes clenching shut as another knife is revealed, strapped to her forearm. Naasade’s voice was dark with excitement, and she took this knife as well; a flat, sharp edge is pressed under her chin, keeping her still while both sleeves are sliced through and left to dangle from her shoulders. Now the only thing holding her tunics up are the stitches at the shoulder seams.

“So I know exactly what you think is going to happen; that Council of yours makes sure every Jedi can take a regular old interrogation without breaking.” Sharya’s hair is lifted, and lips press against the nape of her neck. She bites her lip on a gasp at the rush, slowly forced up onto her toes by the edge under her chin. “You’re expecting pain, and deprivation, and humiliation, and you have gotten a taste of it, true.”

“But I also know what they don’t prepare you for.” Voice dropping to a warm murmur, Naasade pressed herself against Sharya’s back in a long line of heat that drags a reluctant moan from her.

Naasade’s warmth pulls away with a soft chuckle, the knife at her throat going with her, and then she’s ripping apart the shoulder seams of tunic and under tunic before Sharya can think to protest. A warning “Ah-ah,” keeps her shaking body still while Naasade’s hands return to run up and down her abdomen, fingers dipping just below her belt, reaching up to play teasingly with the edge of her camisole. 

Her next words are whispered into Sharya’s ear, and she struggles not to press into that teasing touch, to ignore the heat and tension curling through her.

“They don’t warn you that you might like this,” Naasade says, kissing the side of her neck tenderly. Pleasure shoots through Sharya when teeth scrape at the still throbbing mark on her shoulder; her eyes scrunch closed again, blinking away the threat of more humiliated tears. “Your masters can’t conceive of the idea that something so awful, so damaging, could also become so very enjoyable.”

Her belt and sash are undone by clever hands, and the shredded remains of her tunics drop to the floor; hands slip firmly up her ribcage, cupping her breasts and rolling her nipples through the thin camisole, and she snaps, panic making her voice shrill even through the drugged arousal.

“Stop touching me!” Without thinking, Sharya is spinning, shoving Naasade away and covering herself protectively, shoulders hunching inwards as she struggles not to gasp for air.

Her eyes widen as she realizes what she’s done, and she stops in place, staring blankly at Naasade.

“Do you remember what I just told you?” 

Freezing after her initial outburst, the Jedi starts at the words, and begins retreating backwards for every step Naasade takes forward, panic making her violet eyes wide.

Raising her voice a little, tone hard and impatient, she repeats herself.

"Well? Do you, my pretty little Jedi? I'm waiting for an answer."

The Jedi comes to a sudden stop when her back hits the wall, and Naasade makes her move, seizing the girl's wrists and prying her arms away from her chest, pinning her before she could begin to fight back. It takes a punishing amount of pressure to get the girl to choke out a response, squeezing until the tiny bones in her wrists grind together under Naasade’s fingers.

"I-I remember," she gasps, chest heaving as she tried not to cry out. 

Another squeeze, the threat of bone cracking, and she does cry out, twisting frantically to try and break free, feet beginning to kick. Hiding a grin, Naasade leans flush against her, trapping the girl with her weight until she stops kicking, half smothered by how heavily Naasade is leaning against her.

"What were my _exact._ _Words_. Jedi."

Eyes flinching shut, she whimpered out, "Don't move."

"And what did you do?" Voice a low purr, Naasade pulls back just enough that she can force the girl to her tiptoes, both hands clamping down in a vise-like grip on the girl's wrists when she tries to jerk free.

"I moved!" She finally yelps, struggling anew, tears beginning to flow down her face. "I moved, I moved, I'm sorry, please!"

Naasade smiles, and gentled her hold on the shaking Jedi, allowing her feet to lower to the ground once again. A whimper escapes her once she’s standing, and she’s leaning heavily against the wall, as if trying to escape through it, eyes tightly shut.

"Very good," she coos, releasing her tight grip and letting her hands drift upward to rub soothingly along the girl’s upper arms. "Now that you know what you did wrong, you'll understand why you’ve made me punish you."

Tear-filled violet eyes blink open, staring up at her in terrified disbelief. “Wh-what do you mean?”

Patiently, Naasade reaches up to brush hair out of the girl’s face, ignoring the way she flinched back. “Surely you know how it goes, pretty Jedi. I gave you an order, and you disobeyed me. There must be consequences for disobedience.”

Before Sharya can blink, she’s thrown to the ground by the hand in her hair, weight settling solidly on her waist and one arm quickly twisted up between her shoulder blades. Yelping at the pain, her left arm pinned beneath her, she struggles uselessly against Naasade’s grip; when a hand reaches down in front of her face, she bites down without thinking, teeth sinking into flesh.

There’s a snarl in her ear, and then wrenching pain in her elbow and shoulder forces her flat to the floor; Naasade rips her hand away from Sharya’s mouth, fingers tangling in her hair to shove her cheek into cold concrete.

“Little bitch,” Naasade hisses, grinding her face against the floor, and making her cry out in pain. “Do you like it when I hurt you? Is that why you keep provoking me? Because I was going to play with you a little more before doing this, but you’ve left me no choice.”

The hand leaves her hair and she draws in a gasping breath, lifting her head just enough that duracrete is no longer digging into her skin; warmth is starting to trickle down her cheek, landing in tiny red drops underneath her. A wide, cold band is locked around the wrist Naasade is holding and then she’s being shifted, a knee pressing against her spine to keep her still while another cold band is snapped onto her left wrist.

Naasade shifts again, and Sharya’s wrists are pulled together hard enough that she yelps again, the shock of impact traveling up into her shoulders. No amount of frantic struggling can separate her wrists, and then the mandalorian is settled on her waist, arms trapped under hard, muscled legs.

Cruel fingers grasp the base of her braid, pulling her head back, and something flashes in the corner of her eye. 

“No, no, no, stop!” 

Sharya’s braid is unraveling, strands parting under the razor edge of her own blade as the mandalorian sawed at her nanofilament wrapped hair. Desperately, she tried to jerk free before she lost more; but she kept her knives sharp, and before she knew it, the mandalorian was standing, one booted heel slamming into Sharya’s ribs as she stepped away. 

In her hand, Naasade now holds twelve years of Sharya’s life, as well as eight meters of filament, a set of lockpicks, and a tiny dagger. She can’t stop crying, but she’s finally able to choke back a pitiful sob, clenching her teeth until she was sure it would stay down. Her hands are locked behind her back, but she manages to pull herself upright, legs curling under her.

Footsteps echo in the cell, and Sharya cringes, shoulders shaking as she swallows. When fingers stroked gently into the hair she had left, she loses the battle against her terror, ducking down over her knees and sobbing, even as Naasade did nothing more threatening than run fingertips through her shorn hair. 

An arm is draped over her shoulders, and lips press against her temple, the grip tightening when she tried to pull away. 

"I'm sorry that you made me do that, pet," the mandalorian said softly, voice a purr. "But I couldn't let you keep all those nasty things anyway, and this was the price for that disobedience. The price for biting me, however, is going to be far worse."

Fingers tighten in her hair again, tilting her head so that she was looking at the center of the cell, where a cone-shaped device just barely as tall as her knee stood beneath a large metal circle attached to the ceiling. Visible rays of energy were beginning to emanate from the top of the cone, where a smaller emitter disk was wrapped around the gently rounded tip. 

“Do you know what that is?”

Sharya hasn’t a clue what the damn thing is. A weak smirk crosses her lips, but she doesn’t say it. If she said it out loud, she would start giggling, and there would be a lot more hysteria than humor in the giggle, so instead she shakes her head, wincing as she lost more hair to the mandalorian’s grip. 

“Oh good, you don’t,” Naasade whispered into her ear. “What delicious fun. That, my pretty pet, is a containment field; it uses magnetic fields to keep dangerous force users like you under control, as well as providing me with endless amusement; you see, as soon as I throw you in there, you lose your precious force again.” 

“Now, this means I could take the collar off, but,” the mandalorian pauses, fingers leaving Sharya’s hair to stroke along the edge of the force inhibitor, blunt nails dragging lightly along her skin. “You look so good with a collar around your neck. The Sith Empire does allow slavery, you know. I could always keep you for a while, before killing you. Or sell you off when I finally get bored. Even after I got through with you, I’d still get plenty just for your pretty violet eyes.”

Heart stopping, Sharya whimpered at that, terror running cold fingers along her spine. The manic urge to giggle is long gone, and she’s aware on some level that this is—she hoped—all being said to scare her, but force, it’s working, and she couldn’t decide which fate would be worse right now as Naasade curls around her, hands touching and stroking her bared skin. Lightning is shooting through her again, and she’s thrashing, mind stuttering as she struggles not to scream.

“Hmm, what is that, orgasm number five? You don’t have to hide it when you cum, pretty Jedi, I don’t mind.” Lips press against her temple, the mandalorian’s weight pinning her to the floor as thumbs dig into her; a strangled cry finally escapes her as teeth bite the meat of her shoulder. “And there’s number six! How’s that stimulant I gave you? Having fun yet?”

Panting, Sharya tries to aim a glare at the woman, only to curl into herself as another nerve cluster is triggered. Biting her lips until she tastes blood keeps her from crying out, but her body still shudders until Naasade stops kneading her flesh. 

“You and... me have... dif’rent definitions… of fun,” she finally gasps into the floor, pressing her uninjured cheek to the blessed coolness of concrete as she pants, eyes closed. 

Whatever Naasade wanted to call it when her brain stopped and lightning roiled under her skin, she didn’t care for it. Heat was building so high inside her that Sharya wondered how she hadn’t burst into flame yet, her body so sensitive to touch that she should have been crying from pain; but instead of pain, it was pleasure, pleasure with every touch of the mandalorian’s hands, and the slick between her legs growing with every second.

She didn’t want this, but another jolt of almost pleasure crawls through her and Sharya jerks at the sensation, a sharp yelp leaving her mouth. 

“Now now, pet, we both know Jedi have very narrow definitions of fun,” Naasade laughed silkily. “So I’ll forgive the ignorance.”

“Besides, it won’t be long until you find yourself agreeing with me. Orgasms have a way of changing a person’s mind about things on levels you couldn’t even imagine.”

Going quiet after that chilling statement, the mandalorian quickly gets to work, removing Sharya’s boots, as well as the tiny holdout blaster and long, slender knife hidden along her calves underneath the boots. Her socks are taken when she reflexively kicks Naasade in the chest, panic getting the better of her when the third wide band is placed around her ankle. 

A knuckle driven into the meat of her thigh deadens her leg before she can kick again, muscle cramping as a fourth band is locked onto her. Jerking away as soon as she’s released, Sharya curls into a ball, shivering as Naasade’s weight leaves her body. Without her tunics, boots, or the other woman’s weight against her, the cell air is freezing, sending goosebumps rippling across her flesh. 

Her breath was coming in hitching gasps as terror fought drugged arousal, and then her upper arm was seized, and she cried out, muscles clenching in anticipation of pain. Laughter answers her frightened cry, but she’s still forced to her feet, and dragged to the containment field. Bare feet skidding on concrete, Sharya struggled uselessly against Naasade’s grip, hands still locked behind her back.

The sudden release of her hands should have warned her, but panic is still winning, and she only thinks about staying away from the device, not about how close she already is, or about how strong a magnetic field the thing has to generate to keep a being from breaking free. One last hard shove, and Sharya is abruptly suspended, arms and legs snapping out to her sides, leaving her open and vulnerable.

Shaking, she jerks desperately at the cuffs on her limbs, but she can’t move, and oh force, Naasade is coming closer to her, one hand rising to touch her, no—!

“I did mention it was _ magnetic fields _ holding you, didn’t I?” The hand stroking her cheek is gentle, at odds with the savage delight in the mandalorian’s eyes. “You would have to be stronger than a Wookiee to break free of this, pretty Jedi.”

"Brace yourself, pet. This is going to hurt.”

Naasade’s hand leaves her cheek, and she pulls a small control from a belt pouch, cheekily waving it in Sharya’s direction before she triggers something and the world disappears into pain.

Sharya wakes when a hand slaps her across the face, so hard that her head rocks back. Yelping from the pain, she jerked back, or tried to; she’s still suspended, her limbs splayed out helplessly, and she opened bleary eyes to see that Naasade is watching her avidly, still fingering the small control pad.

“I hope you’re feeling well-rested from that little nap, slave,” Naasade said, eyes gleaming. “Because now the fun begins.”

“Those cuffs you’re wearing? They monitor your vital signs, letting me know exactly how long I can do something to you before you pass out. Or die, whichever happens first, I suppose,” she chuckles to herself. “As you just experienced, I can also use the cuffs to shock you, which, by the way, will increase the chance of brain damage and eventual death the longer you make me use it on you.

“Now I’ve got a few questions for you, so listen carefully. I will repeat every question once. For every time after that you force me to repeat myself, you will be shocked for three seconds. If you do not answer my question fast enough, you will be shocked a further three seconds. If I think you are lying, you will receive another three seconds. Do you understand?”

Cringing back from the hand stroking her hair, Sharya nodded, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists above her head. Naasade’s eyes were hard and amused, turned a sultry, storm cloud grey as she looked up and down Sharya’s spread-eagle form.

Humming softly, the mandalorian trailed her fingertips from the hollow of Sharya’s throat down, trailing between her breasts to circle her belly button, and lower; wet, cooling fabric pressed against her slick folds drags a reluctant, pleading whine from her, hips rolling helplessly.

“This _ is _ an interrogation, pet. I need you to _ speak up _ when you answer me.”

Mouth opening in a silent shriek as lightning grounds into her through the cuffs at wrist and ankle, she blanks out, muscles locked with agony. 

When it ends, Sharya can finally gasp in a breath, opening her eyes to stare blankly at Naasade’s boots on the ground in front of her. Her body is still jerking, tiny arcs of electricity sparking across her fingertips. Swallowing, she barely remembers to force out a raspy, “Yes, ma’am,” when booted toes start tapping.

“Unless you want to be shocked again, do not ever call me that.” A teasing grin. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, m-I understand,” she corrects herself hastily, nodding her head in emphasis. 

“Good pet. Now, how many times have you cum tonight?”

Blinking in shock, she shakes her head a little, voice shaking as she answers.

“I, I don’t know, I—“

She breaks off when Naasade slaps her again, cringing when the same hand grabs her by the chin.

“Yes, you do. I told you earlier how many orgasms I have given you, and you will answer me. How many times has your wet little pussy cum tonight?”

Frantically, Sharya wrestled with her hazy memory of the last however long it’s been, babbling to try and give herself some time.

“I’m not sure, I-I can’t quite remember,” she stammered out, before her eyes widened as she abruptly remembered. “Five! Five, I, I came five times, m-“

“Oh, so close.” Hissing a breath in through her teeth, Naasade shook her head. “The correct answer is eight times. You see, every time you cum, your eyes roll back, and you make the sexiest whimpering noises I have ever heard from a virgin. I have given you eight orgasms tonight, and since they were so forgettable, I’m going to give you eight seconds of shock therapy to help you remember.”

Thumb triggering the control pad, Naasade chuckles as she counts off slowly; the Jedi’s body was arching helplessly as electricity was forced into her, and when the eight seconds had gone by, she grabs the girl by the chin, waiting for sense to come back into those pretty eyes. Once it does, the girl is cringing from her again, visibly biting back a frightened sound.

“One more time, slave; how many orgasms have you had tonight?”

The answer is a soft sob that she has to lean close to hear, shame flushing her face. “E-eight.”

“Very good,” she purred, releasing her chin and letting her fingers curl around the girl’s neck, able to feel the pulse thump against her hand. “Next question. Where is your ship?”

She swallowed, but quickly rattled off a string of coordinates that placed her ship a good six and a half kilometers past where the patrols had finally found it.

“Wrong.”

This time, Naasade doesn’t give a warning to the Jedi; three seconds later, she gasps off a closer location, but it was still wrong, and she clicks her tongue in disappointment.

“Pet, that’s wrong too. I’m afraid you are making me change the rules.”

Voice soft, she leans in close to the Jedi, fingers curling into her hair and forcing her head up. “For every lie you tell me, I am going to shock you until you pass out from the pain. I’ve been using a low setting so far, but since you are forcing my hand again, I’m going to have to turn up the dial.”

Keeping a close eye on the vital signs read out, Naasade didn’t let the Jedi pass out, but kept her on the verge of barely conscious for a good fifteen seconds of electrocution, carefully adjusting the level of pain she received. When she finally released the control, the girl’s body sagged from the restraints, violet eyes slipping closed as her muscles spasmed helplessly, blue arcs of lightning sparking across the containment field.

“Where. Is. Your ship?”

This time, the whimpered answer is correct, and Naasade purrs as she strokes hair from the Jedi’s sweaty face. 

“Good pet. It only took you three tries this time, but we’ll work on that.”

After that, the questions came quicker, a mix of inanity—“How many stars are in the sky?”— and prying curiosity—“How old are you, anyway? Nineteen? Ah, excellent. You’ve got plenty of time to learn how best to please me, my pretty little slave.” There were also the questions that Sharya was expecting; how long had she been on the planet, did she have help breaking in, but those questions she couldn’t answer truthfully, no matter how she was hurt, and her body paid the price for every lie that Naasade caught.

The combination left her reeling, struggling to find something in common in all the questions Naasade was throwing at her; maybe if she could figure out a pattern, she’d be able to predict what the next question was, and not be punished for taking too long to answer. But the shocks kept coming as well, and Sharya was taking longer to find her tongue after every wrong answer, recovering slower and slower as her brain struggled with the constant electrical discharge.

“Did you come here alone?”

Finally, a question she doesn’t feel compelled to lie about, even though she hurts at the reminder. Not lifting her head from her chest, Sharya whimpered out the answer.

“Yes...”

Naasade’s hand clutches her chin, and she opens hazy eyes; there’s a hard smile on the mandalorian’s lips, and her eyes are hungry as she looks at Sharya. 

“I don’t believe you. Who came with you, my pretty Jedi slave?”

“No one,” she stutters out, cringing as the grip on her face tightens. “I came here alone, I swear.”

Hand leaving her chin, the mandalorian steps back a careful half step, her thumb caressing the small control pad as she smirked. “Don’t lie to me, pet. You know what will happen if you lie.”

Her breath coming faster, Sharya can’t drag her gaze away from the control pad. Swallowing a sob of fear, she manages to gasp out a denial, desperate to avoid the punishment Naasade is teasing her with.

“I-I’m not lying, I’m alone, I came here alone—“

When she wakes up a few minutes later, her body aches, and her head throbs. Still half out of it, Sharya reflexively runs her tongue along her aching teeth, wondering if she had cracked a tooth from how hard her jaw clenched while she was being electrocuted. It doesn’t tell her much, unfortunately; her tongue is numb, but she doesn’t taste blood yet, and nothing feels loose.

“Alone,” she gasps out when fingers curl around the collar at her neck, still unable to bring herself to open her eyes. “I’m alone, there’s no one else, please…”

Her collar is released, and then a hand cupped her cheek. Flinching, she opens her eyes to see that Naasade is smiling at her. Fighting off a whimper, Sharya closes her eyes just as fast as she had opened them. The mandalorian’s smile chilled her to the bone; predatory hunger and dark excitement, and she can feel frightened tears wetting her cheeks again.

“Say it again, and I might believe you, my slave,” is purred into her ear. “Are you alone?”

Crying freely, she nods. Yes, she came on this stupid mission alone, just like every mission she’s taken since Lira was stolen from Dantooine; no one was going to come and save her at the last minute. The Council would likely notice she was late on return only long after she was killed or sold, and something inside her broke a little at that realization.

Would her master even be able to feel her when she passed into the force? She didn’t know; the inhibitor collar had stolen the force from her, and now there’s a buzzing numbness inside her head from the containment field. The training bond they had kept after her knighting is in that same buzzing numbness, and she can’t even feel the shields she kept locked over it anymore.

“Poor little Jedi,” Naasade murmurs to her, fingers still touching her face. “You truly are all alone out here, aren’t you. Did the Council know they were sending you on a suicide mission?”

Without waiting for her to answer, the mandalorian continues, her fingers trailing down to curl possessively around her throat, grip tightening.

“It’s time to face the truth, Jedi. Your Order doesn’t care about you, or they would have sent a team here, not just a young bitch with a chip on her shoulder. You’ve been abandoned, left to me and my lord to play with.”

She’s released, but then Naasade’s thumb is pressing on the control pad, and muffled screams are escaping between her clenched teeth until blackness takes her again.

Waking is harder, this time; the heat from whatever Naasade had injected her with has finally abated, bone-shaking agony swamping the pleasure until she could no longer feel it, but her mind is sluggish and she simply stares down at the floor, lungs working hard as she struggled to draw a full breath. There’s a faint buzzing noise in her ears, or maybe it’s just the echoes from her own screams in her head.

Either way, when her hair is grabbed again, she doesn’t react, half hoping that Naasade will finally leave her alone. Her head is pulled up, until she’s staring into storm cloud grey, blinking away tears of pain as they form.

The woman is studying her, eyes cool as she tilts Sharya’s head this way and that. 

“Who did you lose, pretty Jedi?”

She’s too exhausted from the pain to even feel shocked by this question; she is a little surprised, though. Sharya had gotten used to being able to hide her pain from other Jedi over the last year, pretending that she didn’t constantly worry about what had happened to Lira, but in just a few hours, this woman had noticed what the Jedi never had. Still, some defiant spark made her lips spread in a slight grin as she answered in rusty mando’a. 

“Ni ganar echoy’la naasad, aruetii.”

“Copikla, mesh’la jetii,” she hears, just before lightning grounds into her.

“I’ve seen that pain before, Jedi,” Naasade said softly, once Sharya opened her eyes from this latest round of electricity.

_ Damn, I’m still conscious, _ she thought blearily, muscles twitching. _ How much should I care that I’m not dead yet, again? _

She knew electrical damage like this could be permanent, if not treated immediately, but wasn’t sure what the threshold was from short term to permanent; everything hurt, and she kept getting muscle spasms even when Naasade wasn’t playing with the control pad. Her vision was starting to blur at the edges, although that could be from the sweat dripping into her eyes, and it was getting harder for her to get a full breath from how tightly the magnetic field was holding her, lungs beginning to feel cramped. It doesn’t help that sweat is trickling down her skin, soaking her camisole and making the chill of the cell worse, but at least she hurts too much to care about how cold she is.

“Yeah? Exac’ly wha…” she stops to swallow, tongue thick in her mouth. “Exac’ly what pain are ya talkin’ about?

“The kind of pain that you get when you lose everything. So tell me. Who was she to you?”

For some reason, the fact that Naasade knew about Lira didn’t surprise her at all, at the moment. 

“My sister,” she answers, finally looking into grey on her own volition, sweat and tears in her eyes. “Please. Where is she?”

Smirking, the woman shakes her head a little. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. Slaves have no need for hope, no matter how slight.”

“But it is getting late, and I’ve had a long night,” Naasade continued, finally slipping the control pad out of Sharya’s sight before stretching slowly, arms reaching above her head and making her faintly jealous of the movement. “I’ll have someone in with room service shortly, and I’ll see you in the morning, my pretty Jedi. Enjoy your stay.”

Heart crumpling, Sharya drops her gaze to the floor, tears rolling freely down her face. Naasade’s mocking laughter stayed ringing in her ears long after the cell door closed behind her.

_ ~fin~ _

  
  


Mando’a translation:

Ni ganar echoy’la naasad, aruetii

I have lost no one, traitor

Copikla, mesh’la jetii

Cute, beautiful Jedi

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/10/2020: chapters 1, 2, 3, and 5 reuploaded, with minor details added, changed, and some tiny tiny plotty bits redid for clarification, and also because i tend to post at 4am, and don't always realize when something looks funky, or when it doesn't work with the established timeline. also, i chose Corbos because i liked the name of the planet, without realizing that it was basically the doorstop for Sith territory, and so let's ignore that little factoid, please, and move the entire system over just a bit. also, fuck hyperspace travel times, there is nothing to help me figure that out without Much Math, and fuck math. hyperspace travel is now set to PlotSpeed, and comlinks are like phones now-if there's a signal available, it gets through. booyah.


	2. Breaking

“You’ve come a long way to die, Jedi; and all alone in that tiny ship.”

The sudden sound of a voice in the cell, when before the only sounds had been her breathing, and the humming crackle of the containment field she was trapped in, made Sharya’s head jerk up, yanked out of her useless meditation in an almost panic. When a first glance around revealed nothing, she shot a look up at the ceiling, wondering if there was a speaker for an intercom somewhere; the door hadn’t opened, she would have heard it, seen it move. She had only been staring at it for an untold number of hours now, trying to recover from the electrical shocks that the mandalorian had subjected her to.

But as her gaze dropped back down, something grabbed her butchered hair, and she yelped, trying to pull away as she realized her mistake; the door had been opened silently, somehow, and now a figure was standing in the still darkened doorway, eyes glowing maliciously, their force grip keeping her eyes locked on them.

_ No, no, no, _ she thought, feeling her heart thump harder in her chest. 

This was not how she had wanted to meet him, barely clothed, weaponless and helpless, the force locked well out of her reach by both the inhibitor collar around her neck and the containment field; she had wanted to confront him with the comforting weight of her lightsaber in her hands, clothed in the raiment of a Jedi. Unfortunately, that was not meant to be, and the glowing-eyed Sith stepped further into the cell.

He was tall and lean, dressed in black robes that ended in a dramatic flair at the knee, with two lightsaber hilts hanging from a cocked hip; his arms were crossed over his chest, and cupid bow lips tilted in a faint smirk as he locked eyes with her. His hair was longer than the old, blurry pics had shown, dark tumbling waves that were now edged in silver, falling to just above the collar of his robes. His narrow nose, and the shape of his deep-set eyes were the same, but the warm brown in the flatpic had been replaced with a dark corrupted amber, and Sharya almost couldn’t bear to stare into that burning gold, her crèchehood nightmares brought to screeching life.

Unable to hold his gaze, but still held by his grip, she dropped her eyes to stare at the lightsabers at his hip, fear causing her breath to drag in her throat. The hilt towards the back was matte black with ruby controls, all but blending in with his robes, and the other. She bit back a snarl, her fear momentarily forgotten in a rush of recognition; the other lightsaber hilt was hers. 

Struggling to regain the tattered calm of her meditation, Sharya shoved her anger and terror back; her anger would serve no purpose here, and would be controlled, as would her fear, she told herself firmly. She tore her gaze away from her stolen weapon, finally able to glare at the Sith Lord known as the Defiler of Dantooine.

“You must be very brave,” Larec finally continued, sarcasm all but dripping from his voice as his smirk widened.

Sharya continued to glare at him, biting her tongue, lips pressed thin. The grip on her hair was still there, keeping her looking straight at him.

“Refusing to speak? How quaint.” He blinked lazily and tilted his head, dark hair falling across his eyes charmingly as he shrugged. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your silence ultimately means nothing. I have no questions for you.” The Sith’s smirk widened at her disbelieving snort, his glowing eyes beginning to rove down her floating body. 

Gritting her teeth against an inarticulate sound of rage, using it to cover the panic that suddenly clawed at her, Sharya forced herself to remain still, despite how badly she wanted to pull away. The Sith was shifting the force around her, caressing her from shoulders to thighs with phantom hands, and the longer it went on, the faster her heart pounded.

“But when the time comes, you _ will _ talk. You will insist on it. You will _ beg _ me to listen to you.” He let the force grip settle around her hips, a warm, uncomfortable reminder that shifted as he spoke, but she could handle that touch, and she shoved her fear away again, glaring at him harder.

_ That’s not much of a threat if I don’t talk in the first place _, Sharya thought acidly, ignoring the fine shiver going down her spine. In a choice between blind terror and anger, she would choose anger, despite how un-Jedi like it was.

_ Do you know how loud you are, little one? _

Jerking from the razor touch of the Sith’s mind against hers, she grasped desperately at the shredded edges of her outermost shields; with one casual touch, he’d sliced through an entire layer of her shielding, leaving darkness like an oil slick as evidence of his passage. Even as she frantically rewove her shields, strengthening the weakened strands, the darkness seemed to be oozing deeper into her.

“Besides, I was not making a threat,” he purred, eyes going half-lidded as he ran his gaze down her body again, his force grip rippling against her. “I was merely stating a fact. In time, you will beg.”

Mouth dropping open to snarl something at the Sith, Sharya instead whimpers; the force grip he had on her is moving to cup her sex, pressing still damp fabric against her while hands caress her breasts. More hands are running down her limbs, and panic almost makes her jerk at the magnetic cuffs holding her captive; she can feel weight lean against her, pinning her to a wall, hot breath against her cheek, and she has to bite her tongue again to keep from crying out.

In front of her, Larec is laughing softly at her near-silent terror, his eyes dropping closed and the faint glow vanishing. The grip he has on her tightens, mercilessly squeezing bone against bone and she finally cries out in pain, giving in and struggling to pull away from the hands on her. An amused, appreciative gleam is in the Sith’s eyes as he watched her gasp for breath, ribs grinding together under his touch as her limbs yanked helplessly against the cuffs suspending her.

“Even squirming in pain, restrained and helpless,” he began softly, watching her tremble as her breath came harder. “You still radiate such hatred, such defiance. I’m so honored that you’re allowing me to see this, little Jedi. Such emotion is not the usual among your Order.”

He stepped closer, and the grip around her eased, enough that she could take a full breath. 

“Your eyes flashing, cheeks flushed… it does make you ever more lovely to look upon.”

Bile was suddenly faint on her tongue, and she swallowed hard, shaking her head slightly.

_ Not again _ , came a desperate thought. Naasade had only threatened assault, despite tormenting her with unwanted orgasms, while the soldier had been stopped before he could do anything but terrorize her. Her interrogator— _ Larec _ the _ Defiler _ —would see it as his _ right _ . Dizzy with fear, she shuddered. _ Please, please, not again. _

Larec paused a moment, eyes half-lidded as he lifted his head, as if he had scented her fear and enjoyed it. Then his head tilted to the side, one eyebrow rising slightly, and he stepped even closer, one hand lifting, and she can’t stop a frightened whimper as he reaches to touch her. 

“Shhhh, none of that yet, little one,” he said soothingly, golden eyes gleaming. Warm fingers traced the collar around her throat, and she whined again, eyes clenching shut as she ducked her head away from him, not even noticing that the grip on her hair had disappeared. “She really shouldn’t have left this on you.”

There’s a gentle tug as the collar is tightened briefly, then metal clinked together; thin leather is removed from around her neck, and she opens her eyes to stare at the Sith in shock. The force is closer now, no longer hidden behind thick glass, and something inside her relaxes at that lack of distance, even though she still can’t reach for it.

“There,” Larec murmured, tucking the collar inside his robes as he stepped back. His fingers didn’t leave her skin, however, trailing over the hollow of her throat and down, pulling away just before reaching the top of her sweat stiffened camisole. “Much better, isn’t it?”

Her heart still thumping in her chest, Sharya chances a small, confused nod. Why had he taken the inhibitor collar off? Surely he didn’t do it simply to be _ kind _, did he?

“Now, what do you say when someone does something for you?”

And there it was.

Like she would ever thank the creature that had stolen her sister. Just like that, her fear is shoved back by long-held anger, and she feels her face harden. 

The Sith sighs, and shakes his head at her silence, arms crossing back over his chest. 

“Such is the thankfulness of the vaunted Jedi,” he said, gazing at her, and clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Never too proud to accept help, but far too high and mighty to admit to gratitude, or even simple manners.”

He waits a moment longer, but despite the brief stab of shame she feels at his words, Sharya stays silent, and he sighs again before smiling, the grip on her ribs tightening enough to make her gasp.

“I don’t suppose you would like to tell me what you were doing inside my home this evening,” he asked curiously, eyes narrowed slightly. “I do admit that it is still in need of repair, but the door chimes do work on occasion. Or you could have knocked.”

“What, like you really would have let me in,” she blurts without thinking, somewhat shocked at the idea. 

What kind of crazy Sith was he, anyway, lecturing her about manners?

From the way his face went still, he had heard that. Shivering as the cell began to grow colder, Sharya made herself stare him in the eyes, blinking as little as she dared.

“Apparently,” he murmured at last, straightening and turning away, giving her a chance to sag, chest heaving. The air was cold enough that she was beginning to see ice crystals as she exhaled. “A Sith who is capable of using the manners their master taught them.”

“I’ll give you one last chance, little one,” Larec said a few moments later, turning his head just enough that she could see one glittering eye as he spoke. “Tell me why you are here.”

“Go to hell, Defiler,” she answered in a harsh whisper, even though she was all but shaking with icy terror. 

“Very well.” His voice dropping to a low rumble, he faced her once again, eyes burning like embers as he seemed to loom taller, shadows gathering deeper in the corners of the cell. “If you truly wish to do this the hard way instead of talking like civilized beings, Jedi, I will bow to your desires.”

“It was quite clever of you to hide your ship in that ravine,” he continued, robe rustling as he began to pace slowly around her, golden eyes gleaming. “The encryptions are very impressive as well; my slicers still haven’t cracked the codes, but given enough time, _ all _ your secrets will be known to me.”

He walked only a few steps before flicking another glance at her; her ribs were released, but he didn’t let go. Warm pressure settled heavily about her hips again, and she sagged, eyes dropping closed briefly. 

“It’s obvious that you came here to gather intelligence.” Hot breath on her ear made her jump in surprise, head twisting to try and follow the Sith; he had just started circling her, but already he was on her other side. “Let me guess. This was a volunteer only mission, and you… You were the first one to accept it. I wonder how many other knights turned down this mission?”

Something grabbed the hair at the back of her head again, making her gasp and forcing her to stare straight ahead as the Sith stepped closer, looking at her consideringly. “Or, perhaps, you were the first they asked?”

Claws suddenly raked across her shields, freezing numbness spreading and shattering the damaged weaves. Jerking back with a cry, she struggled to defend herself from the attack, imagining the yellow-gold glow of her lightsaber to help fight off the ice. It worked, long enough that Larec pulled away, releasing her hair from his force grip, but the cruelly amused smile that spread his lips told her how deep his attack had gone.

“Oh, yes, you were quite _ eager _ to come here, weren’t you,” he said in a pleased growl. “And they knew you would be, they _ counted _ on it. That is so like the Council, so _ willing _ to avoid dirtying their own hands, instead leaving it to young, hotheaded idiots like _ you _.”

Caught somewhere between “how dare you talk about the Council like that,” and “I am not a hot-headed idiot,” a violently shivering Sharya couldn’t pick; her mouth dropped open and she growled out a garbled combination of the two.

“How d-dare you—I am n-_ not _—the Council doesn’t—“ She finally bit her tongue and settled for glaring at him, hating herself for giving in to the barb.

Larec chuckled knowingly and shook his head, smirk widening. “Ah, to be so young and naive again. Little Jedi, you have so much to learn.”

Fear was tightening her chest at his words, and hands suddenly materialized along her spine, running down in a hard press that set nerves afire with pleasure, heat sinking into her belly and making her bite back a moan; oh force, no, no, please—

Either he didn’t notice, or he didn’t care; the Sith didn’t react to her almost sound, and was circling her again, arms crossing over his chest as he walked. 

“No matter the wording of the briefing, I know exactly what this sort of mission entails,” he continued, tone going idly bored, and she saw him raise one hand, glancing at his nails. “Gather information on the big, scary, dark side temple, someone is finally taking care of it and giving it the reverence it deserves.”

Larec is behind her again, and she sucks in a desperate breath; she can almost feel his body heat, he was so close to her. 

“A mission that should be so _ easy _,” he hissed into her ear, one hand suddenly grabbing her by the hip and jerking her backwards into him. 

Head whipping around with a cry, she stared into golden eyes, horrified by the sudden press of a hard body against hers; the drug inside her flared at the touch, driving her heart to beat faster and her skin to tingle at every point of contact against him. His other arm snaked up across her chest to grab at her throat, forcing her even harder against him, the cuffs at wrists and ankles digging into her flesh.

“Almost any first-year knight should be _ quite _ capable of handling it. Instead, you have _ failed _ . You have been captured by the _ big, bad Sith, _ ” he punctuated each word with brutal squeezes of her hip and throat, choking off her panicked, “No!” before releasing her, slipping around to growl into her face, hands trailing possessively across her skin. “I’m sure that _ wasn’t _ part of your plan, nor of the Council’s.”

“Their plan was probably much simpler, wasn’t it,” he continued, cupping her chin in warm fingers when she tried to pull away. “A flyover of the temple, a talk with the locals, hacking into the local datanet; it is no secret that this temple has been here, no secret that I have claimed it. The only secrets that belong to me and me alone are those sacred to the Sith, and unworthy of public consumption, so tell me, Jedi who disobeyed the Council’s orders.”

“How are you not. A hot. Headed. Young. Idiot?”

Panting in frightened anger—damn him, how could he know, his clawed attack hadn’t sunk that deep into her!—she does the only thing she can think of; she jerks her head free of his grip and tries to sink her teeth into his hand.

It’s like she blinked. One second, Sharya was about to bite into the flesh of his palm; in the next, fingers are tangled tightly in her hair, her cheek is stinging and her ears are ringing. She can taste blood on her teeth when she swallows, her vision blurring a little with surprised tears of pain.

Larec is glaring at her, golden eyes hard and his face cold, one hand still raised from where he had slapped her.

“Naasade did mention that you were a biter,” the Sith hissed, lowering his voice even further and leaning towards her, until he is snarling into her face. “While I do not mind, _ now _ is not the _ time _ for testing me.” The hand buried in her hair jerks downwards, and she yelped at the pain. 

“Now, _ bow your head _ and apologize.” 

Not daring to resist, Sharya follows the Sith’s instructions, letting him force her head down until her chin is pressed hard into her collarbone and gasping out a soft apology.

“I—I’m sorry,” she whimpers, feeling heat flood her face. Shame rises in her again, an unwelcome companion to the fear, anger, and panic Sharya struggles to continue ignoring. 

The fingers in her hair tighten further, and his voice is a low, rumbling snarl when he said, “You are sorry for _ what _.”

“Aah! Ah, f-for trying t-to bite you,” she yelped, squirming. “I’m sorry for trying to bite you!”

“Oh, good,” he said sarcastically, eyes narrowing. “You can remember your manners.”

His hand leaves her hair, but she keeps her head down a little longer, eyes closed as she shivered; her breath was escaping as soft wisps of ice crystals, and her hands and feet were almost completely numb. Despite that, heat still puddled in her stomach, her heart thumping in her chest as the Sith’s force grip rippled against her again.

A warm hand cupped her chin, and she flinched slightly when she realized it was the hand he had slapped her with, but she still looked at him when he tilted her head up. 

“If you are done being childish for the moment,” he began softly, “then perhaps we could continue our conversation.”

Eyes narrowing, she glared at him, reluctantly nodding only when his grip began shifting to curl around her throat and one brow rose slowly.

“Excellent,” the Sith said, eyes brightening as he stepped away. “Now tell me, why did you choose to disobey your Council, and break into this sacred place? Bragging rights among your year group? Bravery?”

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief, and she didn’t understand his words as he kept speaking. Sacred? This. This _ nightmare _ of a building that bled pain and hatred into the force like a wound was ** _sacred_ **?!

“You’re lying,” she finally shouted, cutting him off and straining towards him, numb hands clenched into fists. “This place is sacred as bantha poodoo, and you Sith worship nothing but chaos and pain!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she had made a mistake; ice suddenly crackled across the dirty concrete, the temperature dropping so fast her next breath felt like daggers in her lungs, pain and cold making her cough. The Sith was motionless, but the shadows in the corners of the cell were writhing, crawling towards her, and she cowered away from their touch.

“You should learn to watch your tongue, Jedi.” His voice is a silky snarl and his eyes burned as he glared at her. “Yes, this place is sacred, and far more so than the monument to the Jedi ego that is Ossus. This temple was built to house knowledge and power, and was only allowed to rot out of fear, and now it is _ mine _.”

“And I do not allow insult nor injury to what I consider mine.”

Layers of her shielding suddenly buckled under a brutal attack, and she couldn’t stop a short scream when what felt like a multi tailed whip cracked across her shoulders, agony trailing in its wake. Another strike landed before she could inhale, keeping her breathless for the third blow, and then both attacks halted, leaving her panting and shaking. Oh force, that had hurt, and she huddled down as much as she could, trying to stop the tears in her eyes from falling.

Before he could say anything, do anything else, she chokes on an apology, hoping to ease his temper.

“I’m s-sorry f-for ins-sulting your home,” Sharya forced out between chattering teeth, flinching when the Sith reached to stroke hair from her face.

“It is not just one thing you have insulted, little Jedi,” he rumbled. Fingers clenched in her hair, close to her scalp, and blades slice her lungs when she desperately whimpered a second apology, eyes shutting. “You have insulted my home, the ways of the Sith, and thus, me.”

His grip on her gentled, smoothing back mussed hair, and she opened her eyes fearfully to find he was looking at her understandingly; his eyes still burned like embers, but the frozen rage had thawed some.

“But I also know the education Jedi are given on the Sith,” he admitted, shaking his head. “And it is sadly lacking, in many respects, on the works and accomplishments of the Sith. You have taken your punishment admirably, little Jedi.”

At that, the temperature in the cell rose, and he stepped away to bow mockingly to her. Still gasping, she almost doesn’t notice when the air stops misting as she breathes; that last attack had shaken her to the bone, his mental claws digging deep into her failing defenses. She couldn't concentrate enough to raise another layer of shielding between them, and was terrified that he knew this, knew that she wasn't going to last much longer.

“And now you know,” he smirked, straightening from his bow, a hard, mocking edge on his voice. “Mission accomplished. Reconnaissance complete. You simply need to survive and escape, to report back to your dear Council.”

He raised one finger, a knowing glint in his golden eyes.

“But no matter your official mission, _ you _ had another task in mind.”

Something was wrong. It felt like the shadows behind her had grown teeth and claws, spurred by how the Sith was pressing at her shields, his darkness coiling around her mind. He was grinning, and she felt a hand wrap around the back of her head, fingers tangling with her hair even as she shrank from him again. 

“Yes, I can see it.” Larec sounded pleased as he spoke, eyes glinting, and the force around them whispered of hunger and amusement. “You broke into my home because you wanted to _kill_ _me_.” 

He forced her to keep looking him in the eye as he spoke, his hold tightening when Sharya tried to glance away, her fear quickly giving way to stunned shock. “The hatred in your heart isn’t for the Sith Empire, but for me.”

The galaxy suddenly lurched to one side, leaving her spinning from confusion and fear. 

_ He. How could he know, not even Granya had… _ Before she could stop herself, her traitor mouth had gasped, “How do you know? 

He tilted his head at her again, smiling. She was beginning to hate his smile. “Your eyes give you away, little Jedi. As soon as you recognized me, I could all but _ taste _ the dark side rising in response to your hatred, and your fear.”

The galaxy still felt like it was leaving her behind, and her eyelids fluttered shut. Had she truly been so obvious? 

Sharya groaned, relieved when the hand finally released her hair and she could sag back into her restraints, panting for breath. She was starving for air, but it was like the very atmosphere had turned poisonous; her heart was racing in her chest, blood pounded in her ears, but every breath was a struggle, as if a thin pillow was being held over her mouth and nose, slowly smothering her.

Mocking laughter echoed in her ears, and she whined softly, ducking her head in a mindless bid to escape the Sith and the phantom hands that he kept touching her with, that panic had almost made her forget about.

“So you’ve started to notice that, have you? It’s a part of my art.” Larec paused, pride deepening his voice. “My process, as my Mistress calls it.” 

Sharya was abruptly aware of something cold wrapped around her throat, tightening even further at her confused whisper.

“Yes, I’ve been lightly choking you since I entered the room.” His voice slowed, grew dark and thick. “Gradually increasing the intensity ever so slowly. Mustn’t get too excited and kill our guest, but we do need to keep up the ** _pressure_ **.” 

Sharya’s mouth opened in a useless gasp for air; even more of her shields were buckling, creating cracks in her defenses that she couldn’t afford. One thought drifted relentlessly through her mind as she was slowly strangled, and she shoved it at the hungry presence curled around her mind, desperate for the distraction it might cause.

“Why am I doing this?” Larec sounded amused, and eased the grip on her throat; the force was still an iron collar around her neck, but it was loose-fitting, a reminder as heavy as the hands slipping down the backs of her legs. He shook his head for a moment, shoulders shaking in soft laughter while she fought to get oxygen into her starving lungs.

She choked and coughed, hanging limply in the containment field’s grasp, still feeling his phantom hands pressing against her. Gentle pressure trailed up her side, brushing the edge of her breast teasingly. Sharya flinched, and opened her eyes, staring into molten gold. 

“Because you enjoy it, of course,” Larec whispered, his golden eyes gentling somehow. “It's what you want, in your heart. It's what you need.”

“Do not be ashamed,” he chided her, when she felt a squirm of embarrassed shame and turned her head so she wouldn’t have to look at him. 

Because Sharya _ had _ dreamed of this, of hands touching and caressing her, of a voice low and intimate in her ears; blood rushed to her face as she remembered a dream of being pinned down in training, and a hand working its way under her robes. 

Larec smiled reassuringly at her before continuing, “Many Jedi ache for such treatment. It is merely my pleasure to provide it.”

Pride forced her bent spine stiff, and she lifted her head to glare at the Sith, struggling to get the words past her fear. “I’ll see you dead before you touch me.”

“Now be calm, little one,” he chuckled dismissively. “You’re barely past your trials. You could never defeat me; not as you are, in any case.” A pause, as his gaze went distant. She shivered at the ripples he was creating in the force, like plucked strings on a harp; she could all but see the threads of possibility he was weaving, and her beaten pride quailed. “Possibly after some special…training, however...”

“I would rather die,” she immediately growled, but her voice was shaky, betraying how disturbed and afraid she was. 

She should not have been able to see those multicolored threads the Sith had been plucking; her own gift for future sight was so limited, it was truly useful only in the second by second threat of combat. Only a force user with a strong and highly trained gift should have been able to see that same pattern, but even with her sense of the force muffled by the containment field, she had seen it, too. 

She had no desire to see any future where she embraced the Sith teachings, but if Larec had his way? She would fall.

As if he had gotten lost in the threads of the future, Larec blinked at her before smiling, slow and predatory. “Hm? What’s that? You would prefer death to being trained in the Sith arts?” 

“Yes,” she repeated, struggling to ignore the fine shivers creeping down her spine and the phantom hands stroking along her belly. The collar at her neck was growing snug again.

The Sith broke into sinister laughter, golden eyes closing as he bent from the force of his mirth. Cold shivers ran down her spine; the darkness surrounding them seemed to surge forward at the sound, and she would swear that the presence was hungrier than before.

“Oh, you are a rare delight, little Jedi,” Larec purred at last, his voice dark with pleasure as he straightened, his eyes going hooded, glow intensifying. “I can taste your lie. You’re too scared to die. And wouldn’t you know it, but fear leads to the dark side, and the dark side does not require consent of _ any _ kind.”

As he turned away, still chuckling, a hand slipped out of sight, returning with her lightsaber, and when some spark of anger tried to override her fear at the sight of her weapon in his hands, she let it.

“That’s mine,” she said, voice hoarse, glaring as fiercely as she could. “Give it back.”

“Oh?” He asked, blinking innocently as he looked up from the glyphs she had spent so much time carving into the hilt. “Do you have another engagement to get to, little Jedi? And we were just beginning to get to know each other."

“This is quite a lovely little weapon,” he said when all she did was grit her teeth, head dropping as she panted. 

Long fingers dipped between her breasts, trailing to her belly, and she hissed at him; he ignored her as he examined the device curiously, fingertips caressing the metal of her lightsaber almost lovingly; other hands were tracing shapes into the skin of her back and making her shudder at the echoed touch.

“Now why,” Larec began, glancing up through the hair that had fallen over his eyes, idly tapping the base of her lightsaber with one finger. She whimpered in shock when the tapping was repeated on her clit, struggling to close her legs as the drug flared higher. His smirk widened as he watched, and he pressed his thumb firmly against the lightsaber; she choked down a cry, a hot lick of desire crawling up her spine as she fought the pleasure growing inside her. “Are you even more afraid? Surely you don’t think I could corrupt your lightsaber simply by handling it.”

“Or is it something else you fear?”

Larec didn’t wait for an answer; she flinched at the _ snap-hiss _ of her lightsaber igniting, eyes clenching shut when the Sith broke into delighted laughter again. Searing heat kissed the curve of her neck, and she swallowed a sob of instinctive fear, freezing in place.

“Oh my,” the Sith purred softly. The lightsaber’s fierce heat trailed to the cheek she had pressed against her shoulder, leaving Sharya little choice but to turn her face back to him or risk burning. “What do we have here? A _ golden _ ‘saber.” 

She was startled to see that the smile on his lips was genuine delight, the corners of his eyes crinkled in pleasure. “Other Sith may not know what this means, but I was a Jedi once. I know.”

“You are a Sentinel,” he continued, extinguishing the blade before hooking it back to his belt, and clasping his hands behind his back, dark amusement radiating from him. “The Jedi’s own inquisitors. Elite. Incorruptible.” He smirked as he spoke, and she whimpered at the sudden sensation of cruel fingers pinching her nipples. “I wonder what lies you told your masters about your intentions here. I wonder what lies you told yourself.”

Sharya wanted to shout denials at the Sith, but she couldn’t think straight. His voice kept reverberating with the dark side of the force, resonating deep inside her. She was almost gagging for breath, her lungs aching; dark spots were trying to form at the corners of her eyes. But she couldn’t afford to pass out, not here; she _ had _ to stay conscious, no matter what was done to her.

“Is your breathing becoming too difficult?” Larec asked innocently. She opened her eyes to see that he was closer to her, blatantly studying her with greedy eyes. “Your face is flushed, little one, and signs of your… enjoyment… are quite clearly visible through your clothing.” 

Sharya couldn’t stop herself from snapping weakly at him, stomping ruthlessly on the parts of her that had noticed her nipples hardening, the throbbing between her legs slowly growing with each ghostly touch the Sith inflicted on her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging what he was doing to her. 

Even so, she could feel the heat climb further up her cheeks as she lied, each word a puff of hard-won air, “I have… no id-idea... what… you’re… talking about..”

“You shouldn't lie to me, little Jedi,” he chuckled lightly as he began to circle her once more, golden eyes locked with hers. “There is no need to pretend here. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your master your _ secrets _.” His voice was a low rumble that burned into her mind, echoing with power she could no longer resist. 

A sob escaped her; it hadn’t been a command but she still responded to the strength in his words, and despite how she tried to keep it back, a memory flashed through her mind; her early Knighting, celebrating at a cantina, a comcall that shocked her back to sobriety faster than the force ever could, and, hours later, a name. 

“Aah, there it is,” the Sith hissed, golden eyes pleased and vicious as he caught the edge of her thoughts. “You blame me for someone you lost. Someone close, and so dear that you are risking death and worse for them.”

Desperately, Sharya shook her head, even as claws picked delicately at her shields, pulling out scraps of memory with each passing heartbeat. There were too many holes to patch now, and she drew back into herself, fear bitter on her tongue.

“You knew that Naasade was here,” he continued, voice dropping to a proud murmur. “And you knew, somehow, that I would be near, didn’t you? Were you expecting this someone to be near as well? Tell me, clever little Jedi. Who were you wanting to see?”

“But first, let’s do something about those pesky shields of yours, shall we?” Larec said cheerfully, before raising a hand and snapping his fingers.

Sharya had a few seconds to wonder what he had done before she was filled with thick liquid heat, her body arching weakly at the onslaught.

It was pleasure and pain, mixed together in a delicious symphony; sugar sweet pain and knife-sharp pleasure twisted inside of her, stealing what breath she had left. As if from a distance, she heard Larec say something, felt a hand slip into her hair and tilt her head back, baring her neck. She shuddered when lips touched her throat, parting to press sharp teeth into her skin and couldn’t find it in her to fight his touch. The force grip at her throat suddenly slackened, and Sharya saw stars as she drew in a ragged breath, convulsing hard enough that the containment field shocked her in brutal protest.

She managed another breath, a third, before Larec tsked in her ear and placed a calloused hand around her neck, squeezing inexorably. 

Something in the cell was making a high, soft whine, and Sharya wondered briefly what it was, before she was lost to a flood of sensation; she wanted to pull away from the attack almost as much as she wanted to dive into it, drowning in the waves of heat pressing into her. The magnetic cuffs were tight on her limbs, keeping her still no matter how she pulled at them. 

Sharya finally forced her eyes open, to stare at the Sith, to try and ask, only for words to fail.

Luckily, Larec had much experience with reading pleasure twisted lips.

“What am I doing?” He smiled when she bit her lip against a helpless moan, nodding frantically, too far gone to remember how to speak. “I’m **directly stimulating** you. In all your **secret** places.” He laced his voice with the dark side, watching the last of the girl’s shields crumble under the combined assault even as she continued to physically struggle against him. “The places where your Jedi masters tell you that you cannot be touched, must never be touched. Because love is _ forbidden _.”

“As if you could be forbidden to love,” he continued scornfully, letting the force coil around her throat once more, but left his fingers carding through her hair in an easy caress that she leaned into. “I could not. Neither could your…sister?” 

Larec felt a fond smile cross his lips when he finally saw the face of his last conquest in the Jedi’s memories. Lira had proven more than worthy of his attentions even before she had bowed to him, and her sister was proving herself worthy as well. Who knows, they might _ have _ to plan a reunion. “Your _ little _sister, even… I knew Lira had a sister, I just didn’t realize how beautiful she would be.”

Another whimper left her mouth, fear spiking even as he teased her, ghostly hands cupping her breasts and brushing her hard nipples harder. Keeping his grip on her hair gentle, he tilted her head up so he could watch her face as he shared her sister’s fate.

“She’s one of the lucky ones, you know,” he murmured. “The other Jedi we took from Dantooine were turned over to the Dark Council for…. retraining purposes. Lira, however, was far too special for such brutish treatment.”

Violet eyes slit open to look at him, wide with confused shock, and dark with lust. With her shields all but destroyed, it took no effort to snatch the questions from the girl’s mind. She was floating from what he was doing to her, and Larec didn’t bother hiding his delight.

“What do I mean?” Larec continued only when she nodded, cruel amusement coloring the force around them. “I mean that she had a great deal of **anger** and **fear** , but it covered something else. An ** _ache_ **.” 

The sudden presence of the force in his voice echoed through her, the final shove that made the girl's mouth drop open in a strangled moan. 

She _ did _ ache, her sex throbbing in time with her heartbeat, and she could feel how soaked her inner thighs had become. If Lira had been put through this, no wonder she had never tried to come home… Sharya felt she was slowly being driven to madness by Larec, a sweet madness that she might never return from.

“Oh? Was that a moan I heard?” He teased in a soft voice, releasing her hair to cup her jaw. “You tried to stifle it, but…the dark side is ** _powerful_ **.” 

Another pulse of overwhelming heat swept through her and Sharya pressed her cheek into his palm, desperately seeking physical contact to counter the force hands kneading her flesh; the grip at her throat tightened even further. 

“You came here for revenge on her behalf, but I don’t think Lira would understand your reasoning any longer.”

Larec gently ran his thumb across her open lips, invisible sparks following the touch. Without thinking, Sharya’s tongue darted out, tasting skin and a hint of salt. Arousal flooded the force around her, and she let out a tiny sound, desire curling hot and tight inside her. 

“She is my Mistress’s new apprentice. You can see her if you want, when we are done here.”

Sharya almost didn’t hear him; there was a roar in her ears, and she was shaking from pleasure, near senseless with it. When the hand around her throat relaxed a second time, the world disappeared into colorful, silent fireworks. But the heat kept building inside of her, curling into a knot that was almost enough to… to... 

She didn’t quite know, but stars and _ gods _ , she _ wanted _ it like she had never wanted anything else, everything inside her yearning for it.

“Well, look at that. Another moan. You seem to be enjoying this as much as she did.” Sharya caught a glimpse of her sister from the Sith; on her knees, hands pinned above her head, stripped and begging, grinding helplessly against a booted foot. 

Rage tried to flare inside her at the memory, but was quickly extinguished. 

"Oh gods," she whimpered instead, feeling humiliated tears prick at the corners of her eyes. 

Larec pressed his lips to Sharya’s forehead in a chaste kiss, whispering into her ear, “Do you know you are doing so much better than she did, little Jedi? Lira broke within moments of feeling my touch, broke down and _ begged _ for release. You are so close to an orgasm, and yet, you haven’t said a word about how _ desperately _you need to cum.” 

He drew back, still cupping her cheek and smiling at her when Sharya managed to focus on his face. “At this point, I’m starting to wonder if you’ve ever experienced something like this. Am I truly the very first being to make you feel this way?”

It felt like he was scanning through her memories, seeking out every moment of pleasure she had ever felt, examining each memory like a precious jewel; Sharya’s ninth birthday, two weeks after she and Lira were Chosen by the temple’s combat master; the pride of creating her first lightsaber using only the guidance of the force; coming in first in the temple-wide Padawan/Master competitions. 

The first time she awoke late at night, inner thighs strangely slick to the touch; her first unsure explorations, trembling fingers touching where they never had before. The few times she brought herself to shaking, silent completion before she learned to ignore the urges, shove them aside and give them to the force. Sharya’s first kiss, given to her by an ambassador’s grateful daughter whilst hiding from kidnappers.

And hours ago, Naasade, kissing her awake so gently, arousing her even as fear curdled her stomach. Naasade’s thumbs digging into her flesh until she shrieked, lightning arching through her in a confusing rush, leaving her panting and crying even as her thighs trembled with desire.

The Sith was chuckling against her throat. Sharya moaned, her head falling to the side as teeth closed on her flesh. Darkness crawled into her mind, draining her of strength; another phantom hand had formed and was stroking her folds tenderly, joining the others caressing her into madness.

_ “Yes, that’s right,” _ Larec’s voice was soft, and seemed to be in her mind as much as in her ears, scattering her ability to think even further. “ _ Now I’m deeply inside you, my mind touching you in places only a lover should _.”

The hand slipped between her folds, did _ something _ that made her toes curl, and her back arch.

“But you’ve never had a true lover, have you? You certainly **fantasized** , however. For years, you’ve **starved** for the **touch** of another,” he breathed, voice a low, heated snarl as he nipped at her. 

Sharya’s mouth fell open; his words had triggered a molten heat inside of her, heat that left her squirming for relief, trying so hard to press into the force-created hands on her skin. Even so, some small part of the Jedi still refused him, was still trying to protect herself. 

Larec frowned at the shredded remains of her shielding, letting his force grip on her flesh slow to a near stop, but keeping a firm hold on her nervous system, continuing to feed his darkness into her. Fragments of mirror-like shields had begun merging in her mind, beading together like mercury to hide… 

“No,” he snarled when the quicksilver beads slipped out of his reach; he twisted the force inside of the girl, stripping all the pleasure from her body, to leave mind-shattering agony in its wake. 

She let out a startled, pained scream at the abrupt change, opening tear-filled violet eyes to stare at him uncomprehendingly. His hand had found its way back into shorn hair, forcing her head up so he could glare into her eyes.

“Don’t you dare try to resist now. You **will** **stay** **open** to me."

Another crackling lash of pain swept through Sharya as the Sith snarled at her; a wave of black flooded across her mind, leaving her limp and making awareness a distant memory. 

She was pulled from the brink of unconsciousness only by the fierce grip in her hair and the sudden absence of pressure at her throat. The first deep breath she managed caused her lungs to seize, and she choked, coughing hard enough that she lost hair to Larec’s grip when he refused to let go. For a moment, all she could do was try to catch her breath; every muscle was quivering in torment, and tiny sounds of pain kept escaping her. 

She couldn’t bear to open her eyes; she didn’t want to see the expression on his face. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to see; anger or pride or disapproval? Some part of her whispered that it was disappointment she didn’t want to see, and she ignored it as best she could. This hurt far more than the containment field’s electrical shocks, and she couldn’t concentrate enough to remember even the start of any meditation, much less a pain meditation.

"St-stop, please," Sharya finally sobbed when the Sith gave her head a harsh, impatient shake, feeling tears slipping down her cheeks. "It h-hurts…"

"I don't want to keep hurting you, little Jedi." Larec’s grip in her hair remained tight, but his voice softened to a gentle rebuke; he did nothing for the fire burning in her bones, and she wept from the pain, feeling absurdly like a padawan again, one who had been injured doing something incredibly foolish. "If you continue to deny me, however, you will leave me **no other choice** but to hurt you.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered, renewed shame coiling inside her. “I can’t, I can’t, please.”

If her master ever learned that Sharya had given into a Sith, _ this _ Sith, what she had done to survive this intact, Master Maille would never forgive her. She couldn’t stand the thought of her beloved master ignoring her, loving green eyes gone cold with disgust. The very idea made her heart twist in her chest, a hurt that almost rivaled what Larec was doing to her.

“You are a Jedi Knight, a full-fledged Sentinel, and yet you fear your master’s disapproval? You fear that she would judge you for _ surviving _?” Larec finally released her hair, his hands moving to cup her face as he gently wiped her tears away with his thumbs, mock sympathy thick in his voice. “Sweet child, your master is no master at all if she begrudges her student’s survival.” 

“In fact,” he murmured, and leaned in close to her, letting their foreheads rest together. She couldn’t stop from cringing at his touch, eyes flinching closed. “Even if she disapproves of you-“ He paused, tilted her head down so he could kiss her eyelids gently. “Just know, little Jedi, that _ I _ am proud of you.”

He tilted her head up again, and she fought a whimper, the heat in her bones shifting into jagged shards of molten glass. The soft touch of lips against hers, the sweep of slick muscle probing the seam of her lips made her gasp; welcome pleasure blossomed in her belly, and she melted under the Sith’s touch, desperate to feel something other than agony.

She whimpered pleadingly into the next kiss, struggling to relax as he stroked strong fingers into her hair; if she didn’t resist him, maybe he’d remove the broken glass he’d placed under her skin. Slowly, the forced relaxation became truly slack muscle as pleasure overrode pain, heat from Naasade’s drug mixing with the arousal she could feel from the Sith; his tongue was mapping her mouth, slick and wicked and knowing as he expertly drew sounds from her throat.

From the way his mind was curled around hers, Sharya could feel his excitement growing as she submitted to him, her crumbled shields falling further apart at each touch of his mind on hers. Mewling, she followed the hand that guided her head back, feeling lips curl in a smirk before he chuckled darkly, trailing kisses down the line of her neck.

Slowly, Larec explored the Jedi’s pliant body, absently adjusting the containment field as he needed; lowering her so he could bite another dark, toothy bruise onto her clavicle, raising her to tear the waistband of her dirty leggings and properly feel her tight, dripping cunt throb around his fingers. His free hand dragged down to cup and stroke at her breasts, teasing one nipple and then the other to full hardness as she whined.

The little Jedi was whimpering putty in his hands, but still, that last, stubborn bit of shield remained.

After one last lingering kiss, Larec finally sighed and pulled back, taking the time to drag his fingers up along her slit as he pulled his hand free of her, brushing her clit in a long, hard stroke. Her breathing stuttered, her back arched, and his hand left a wet, shiny trail up the bared skin of her belly. He brought his dripping fingers to his lips and sucked them clean, watching hazy violet eyes grow darker, irises shrinking to thin circles.

"You taste divine, little Jedi." His gaze abruptly sharpened; Sharya quailed at the expression, too late suspicion gnawing at her lust-drunk mind. “But you are **still resisting me.**”

She was already shaking her head in horrified denial when he moved his fingers from his lips and snapped.

"No, no, please, no-" She screamed as agony lanced through her, and time finally disappeared.

She doesn’t know how long she lasted, after that. It could have been hours, or minutes, but almost everything was lost to long periods of screaming, followed by the deep black of unconsciousness.

She does remember one thing, however; Larec never strikes her. Later, Sharya will wonder if that makes it better or far worse. Right now, she only knows that she’s grateful; grateful for the lack of violence other Jedi had suffered, that her bones had gone unbroken; she was grateful that he only used his hands to grab her hair or chin, forcing her to look him in the eye as he tortured her.

The only pain she suffered came from her own nervous system, fooled into thinking she had been thrown into a star, or frozen in carbonite while conscious. Ice and magma replaced blood and marrow; she was breathing liquid nitrogen, lungs seizing and cramping on what was too cold for her to breathe, before blacking out. And waking up once more, groggy and aching, until Larec snapped his fingers again.

Sometime later, Sharya blinked her eyes open for the… Third? Fourth? She wasn’t sure how many times she had awoken now, only to hear that same _ snap _ of fingers seconds later. The only difference this time was that Larec had his hand in her sweat-drenched hair, forcing her head up, his gaze locked on her face. 

It took her a moment to realize that her body simply ached, that lightning wasn’t grounding into her. She gasps in a breath at this, and looks up at him, her mouth already opening to beg, when he slides a thumb between her lips, pressing lightly on her tongue.

Mouth closing without conscious thought, she licked at the digit, curling her tongue around it and sucking. 

A soft rumble drew her attention back upwards, and she shivered at the heat in Larec’s glowing eyes. He pulled his thumb from her mouth, curling his hand behind her neck to pull her into a deep, demanding kiss. Fresh tears fell from her eyes at the sparks in her belly, and she whined in desperation.

She doesn’t fight him. 

Sharya simply lets the Sith lead the kiss, exhausted and tired of hurting; he curls into her mind, and she forces her instincts away, struggling to keep from shielding herself. Cool silk was wrapping around her, soothing her pain, and she let out a soft, confused sob, pulling away from the kiss in terror at this odd comfort. 

For a moment, the hand at the back of her neck tightens, and she hunched down, whining, before the Sith slowly relaxed his grip and stepped away from the containment field, arms crossing as he frowned at her.

“I must commend your Master’s patience, little Jedi. You are proving yourself most…” Larec drew in a breath, let it out in a hissing growl that she flinched from. “Stubborn.” 

"Perhaps you learn better by example. Shall I show you what happened to Lira?" His tone was idle amusement, but she couldn’t ignore the cold undercurrent of thwarted anger she could feel from Larec. "How beautifully she broke? What happened when she finally vowed herself to the dark side, to me and her new Mistress?”

An image slips into her mind, and she reels at it, desire hot in her veins. 

_ Lira is kneeling, clasping her wrists behind her back. In front of her, Larec is kissing a woman draped in silk, and crowned with moonlight hair, busy working his cock under his robes. He groans into her mouth, and Lira moans with him, a fledgling bond thrumming with shared pleasure between them. _

_ Sharya knows—feels—that something firm is stretching her sister open as she kneels, head bowed in respect; her hips are twitching at the oddity of being _ full _ , unable to keep from moving. She hadn’t been given permission to speak, but that didn’t stop the half-aware litany of begging that ran through her mind. Only when Master Larec glances at her, irritation on his face, does her mind go silent, and she forces her quivering thighs to still and waits for permission to move, to cum. _

_ She would wait for hours, if her masters so desired it. _

“Lira learned so easily and so well to let me in. Perhaps, you simply learn differently than she does," he murmured softly. "Pleasure does not seem to help you, but maybe all you need is a little more… Enlightenment.”

Memories from Larec flow into her mind, each one featuring her sister; Lira, writhing between the two Sith, hands still clenched behind her back—she wasn’t allowed to touch herself or her masters, but she was able to cum as often as she wished, so long as she asked and didn’t touch. Lira bowed in agony, learning to channel the dark side, feeling it like fire in her veins; Larec’s voice was curling through her mind, teaching her to tame the fire, turning it into a burn like the smoothest of whiskeys, warming her belly with rage.

Lira prostrating herself at the woman’s feet, eyes full of adoration.

And finally, freshly bruised from the attack on Dantooine, terrified, but so defiant—until Larec grips her hair, stares into Lira, and shatters her shielding like so much brittle glass in a brutal attack that Sharya feels, shares.

A tiny scream escaped her; it hurt, it _ hurt _ , it ** _hurts_ ** , how could this _ hurt _ more than the magma and ice from before, oh gods, please _ just let me die, it hurts so much—! _

The pain goes on for years, stretching time until Sharya is breathless from screaming, continues until all she knows, all she remembers is agony. It tears through her mind and her body struggles to curl inward in futile defense: the containment field sends shocks into her skin, but she doesn't notice. 

Dimly, Sharya can feel that something is shredding, being worn away in the same razor-edged whirlwind that's also destroying her; it's important that she keep it intact, she knows that she has to keep that _ thing _ whole. She can almost remember _ why _ it's important past the pain, but it's not enough. A hope born of desperation latches on, and she wonders—

If this _ thing _ that she must keep whole breaks before she does, will the pain end?

Molten durasteel has replaced her bones, and she shrieks—

There is a sudden, almost audible _ snap! _ as the thing abruptly shatters. 

Despair lights through her as the pain goes on, and she is somehow _ alone _, lost in the silence of her mind; her body is burning to ash with agony and she manages another scream before darkness suddenly pours into her.

She clings to it, broken and sobbing, begging, pleading for mercy; it curls around her, this hungry, gleeful presence that has been haunting her since she arrived on this gods forsaken moon, and it soothes her, shields her from a brilliance that she suddenly can’t bear to look at. It takes her pain and transforms it, tricks the agony one millijolt over into pleasure. 

For one moment, the aching, soul-deep, indescribable torment is mind blanking bliss; just a second longer, and the long-forgotten tension inside her will snap, will send her screaming over the edge, lost in an ecstasy she had never even dreamed of.

Before she can hit that point, the pleasure ends, and she’s left gasping, body twitching in the aftermath. Unable to lift her head from her chest, she simply hangs there, tears flowing silently down her face as she pants. She had been so close, the pain had finally _ ended _, how long would he keep doing this to her?!

Movement at the corner of her eye resolves into a now-familiar hand, gripping her chin and forcing her to look up. She couldn’t stop crying, and his face was nothing but a pale blur with merciless golden eyes; when his hand moved to cup her cheek, she pressed into it, a tiny, hopeless sob escaping her at last. Just before she closes her eyes, she sees his free hand shift, fingers posed to snap; Sharya can’t bring herself to care, and simply leans harder into the hand on her cheek.

Larec blinks at the girl, and then smiles, slow and satisfied. 

Lira’s sister was made of far sterner stuff, but everyone had a breaking point, and he had finally found hers.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly. Reddened violet eyes drift open, lock onto him, but the tears don’t stop.

Keeping his hand on her cheek, Larec leans close, pressing his lips against hers in a chaste kiss. Her mouth immediately drops open, and he swallows the whine she doesn’t stiffle, smirking into the kiss. 

In the force, the brilliant light the girl carried had been dimmed, eclipsed by his darkness. Her mind was open to him completely, all of her defenses finally shattered; she couldn’t have fought him any longer even if she had wanted to. Already, he was weaving threads between them, the shredded ends of her training bond re-forming with each breath she took, binding her closer to him. 

In all but name, she now belonged to him. Larec drew back from her eager mouth and waited. It took a moment before soft, broken violet eyes opened, staring at him in terrified arousal, chest heaving as her breathing quickened.

"Give me your name, child," he murmurs, one thumb stroking her cheek. "I will not take that from you, not yet."

Her mouth works once, but the answer comes to him on a soft, sweet voice in his mind, as if she has forgotten how to speak out loud, and he smiled. 

_ Sharya. _

"Use your words, child."

"My… my name is Sharya," she finally whispered; her voice is still soft and sweet, but underneath the rasp from hours of screaming, there’s a desperate need that he wants to hear again. 

Absently tucking a sweat-soaked strand of hair behind her ear, he presses a kiss to her forehead; she doesn’t flinch from his touch, but leans into it, whining softly. 

“Good girl,” he breathed, stepping close enough that his toes almost brush the cone of the containment field, letting his fingers trail down to gently circle her bruised throat. She moans at the growl in his voice, and his cock throbbed with how wanton she sounded. “Now, tell me what you were hiding.”

“I.” She hesitates, and Larec pushed delicately at the threads between them, tweaking her nervous system; she cried out in pleasure, her body arching for a careful three count before he pulled back, leaving her panting for breath.

“I want to cum. Please, please, let me cum,” she finally gasped out, tears staining her flushed cheeks as she looked away from him in shame. _ I ca-can’t… please don’t hurt me anymore… _

Almost mistaking that last for a whisper, Larec chooses to ignore it at the moment, and pulls Sharya into a deep, demanding kiss, one hand burying itself in her hair, and the other yanking at the thin barriers separating him from her naked flesh.

Her camisole tears under his hand, and he brushes it aside impatiently, stroking the soft skin of her breasts and pinching and rolling each nipple as he found it. She whimpered into the kiss, arching to press against his hand, eyes firmly shut as he sucked on her tongue. She was open to him, mind and body, and he was going to use her like he had been aching to since he first saw her.

Her leggings fair no better; the torn waistband was already loose enough to hang off her hips, and he quickly had them halfway down her spread thighs, unerringly finding her clit and stroking hard, fingers damn near-frictionless with how wet she was. He had been rock hard since her first tormented scream, but Sharya would need a moment to adjust, no matter how slick she was.

_ Or how desperately she begs _, he thinks, amused as her thoughts begin to stutter the closer she came to orgasm.

One last stroke of his thumb over her clit made her wail; Larec sliding three fingers into her tight pussy with no warning makes her shriek, clenching around him as he fucked her to the very edge of orgasm and then kept her there, tangling himself in her mind and forcing her to the absolute peak of pleasure.

Still finger-fucking her, he pulled her head away, forcing her to look at him once more; her lips were open, reddened and kiss swollen, shame, embarrassment, and fierce guilt flushing her tear-stained cheeks. Violet irises had all but disappeared into thin circles around her pupils, and she was crying in desperate, needy frustration as he expertly held off her orgasm. She was gorgeous, and she was _ his. _

“So beautiful,” he growled, fingers curling inside her, pressing against her slick walls. “I want to see your face as you cum, my little Jedi. Let me see how you **fall**.”

At his words, she keened, head thrown back and body shaking as Larec released his control of her body, finally, finally allowing her to fall over the edge. Her pleasure swamped the threads between them, and he growled as he bit the bony edge of her clavicle, releasing her hair to wrap his fingers around the back of her neck; Sharya’s mind was blank, quaking with fierce aftershocks that he began to build immediately into a second, faster orgasm even as he worked his smallest finger into her. She was still so tight around him that he would find faint bruises on his knuckles later, but her body would have to learn to take all he had to give.

_ Oh my gods, _ she thinks wildly as pleasure shifts briefly into pain, feeling so _ full _ and still needing more. _ Oh gods, oh fuck, oh please, it hurts, how can he _ fit _ ?! How can it still feel so good?! _

Gasping for breath, she forced her eyes open the barest slit, to find that Larec’s golden eyes were locked on her, hungry and greedy, focused with an intensity that scared her, and she turned her head away. Words were crowding her mouth, pleading whimpers and promises, if she could just please please— Biting her lips and tongue, struggling not to beg the Sith, Sharya whimpered instead, some tiny vestiges of pride trying to keep her silent.

His fingers are still working inside her, curling upward at the same time as he presses his thumb against her clit, squeezing the sensitive nerves together, and Sharya’s eyes roll back in her head before closing, mouth dropping, lips moving.

The hand at the back of her neck pulls her close, and lips touch her forehead in a kiss. He’s inside her, in her head, and a half coherent cry escapes her before she can stop it. “Ahn—I—Please, mast—“

Savage delight echoes through her, pleasure diminishing as Larec slowed the hand inside her to a stop, and she shrieks, unable to stop herself, squirming to try and get him to _ move _ , _ please _. “Master!”

A dark chuckle answered her, and Sharya sobbed in relief when the thumb on her clit begins circling slowly. It’s not enough, nowhere near enough stimulation to trigger her release, but the slow, teasing touch is _ something _, easing the need inside her just enough that she opens her eyes again. Larec’s head dipped down as she watches and she shudders as he licked a hot, wet trail up between her breasts, lapping the sweat running from her skin, stopping briefly to scrape teeth over her painfully erect nipples before speaking.

“Why, Sharya,” he purred, pausing to mouth at the column of her throat and drawing a moan from her. “I thought you said you would _ never _ consent to Sith training. Are you changing your mind?”

“No,” she whimpered, trying to shake her head. She was still a Jedi, she couldn’t learn— “Please, no, I d-don't—ah, oh, oh gods...“

Heat flares inside her, cutting her off when teeth close on her pulse point. 

_ How badly do you want to cum, my beautiful Jedi? _

His voice echoed in Sharya’s mind, and she curled into his presence, wordless pleading in every part of her as pleasure rippled through her, a warm wave that traveled from her head to her toes. At the same time, he began to move again, his hand inside her stroking while his thumb rubbed harder circles around her clit, making her whine; he was still moving too slowly for her, taking his time to sink his teeth into her skin before whispering to her.

“If you beg for permission to cum, like the good, obedient, little girl you are,” Larec hissed, fingers curling around her neck and squeezing ever so gently, thumb stroking the line of her jaw. “If I decide to let you cum again...” 

He paused, and pulled back, lips curling in a smirk, golden eyes gleaming and amused as he watched her squirm against his hand for relief, fighting the magnetic cuffs at her wrists and ankles. The grip on her throat shifted, tilted her head up so that Sharya was forced to look at him, so there was no mistaking the words he said next.

“_ Will you be my apprentice? _”

The words echoed inside her, threat and promise and fierce desire, coupling with a shock of lust that made her back arch; he was using the force to touch her again, long teasing strokes that set fire to her nerves. But the words sent a stab of terror into her heart and she whined into the kiss he forced on her, fingers pressing at the hinge of her jaw to keep her mouth open.

When he finally released her, Sharya couldn’t look at him, bowing her head and directing her words to the floor, shuddering with every twitch of his fingers inside her.

“Please, please no,” she begged, voice breaking. “I don’t want to be a Sith, please.” 

Shushing her with another kiss, the Sith purred as he licked into her mouth. _ The only way you could see Lira again is as my Apprentice, beautiful Sharya. Only Sith and their apprentices are allowed on Korriban. _

Fresh tears fell down her face at his words, and at the honesty she felt from him. Some part of what he said was true, but some part was false, a sour note that was quickly swept under by a flood of desire and she moaned helplessly, unable to tell where Larec’s mind ended and hers began, he was weaving them so closely together.

Time lost sense again, not that it had much sense left in the first place, and Sharya eventually only knew that she couldn’t cum again unless she said yes. 

Over and over, Larec teased her, fingers running along her skin and his lips on hers the only things she could concentrate on. She was being touched everywhere by him in some way; his desire for her echoed in her mind, his force grip stroked her inside and out, and one hand constantly gripped her hair or her throat, and each squeeze to her throat set off fireworks behind her eyes, almost enough to trigger an orgasm.

Sharya moaning too loudly as his fingers tightened on her neck finally gave her away, the Sith chuckling against her ear as he abruptly let go, slipping his hand into her hair and tilting her head back. 

“You are so perfect, my clever Jedi,” he growled into her pulse point, teeth closing there briefly. “Already learning different pleasures, already wanting more.”

_ I can teach you so much more than this, so many pleasures that you haven’t conceived of, _his deeper mental voice whispered as he kissed her, one hand pinching her nose shut until she was whimpering for air, body shivering with the beginnings of an orgasm. But he pulled back, tongue leaving her mouth as he reached into her head again and seized her, stopping her release with a cool force grip.

She forgets, for a moment, that begging does nothing more than make his cock throb hard enough that her body aches in forced sympathy, her inner walls clenching on nothing unless he willed it. And she forgets what using an ingrained honorific would mean if she said it at all. She forgets this and she cries fat, burning tears because she can’t take it anymore. 

“Please, please, please,” she begged, looking at his burning golden eyes and crying, body yearning towards him. “Please, I need—please let me cum, master, please…”

Breathing out a pleased snarl, Larec pulls her face up for another kiss, fingers digging into her hair.

_ Say it again, Sharya. Beg me one more time, and mean it, and I might let you cum. _

“Master, please, let me cum, please, please, Master, ple-ahn, mmph-”

She’s cut off by a tongue coiling around her own, but a nudge and she remembers how to send again. _ Please Master, please, please, please let me cum, Master, please… _

Approval and pride and hunger surround her, drawn by the darkness she can feel inside her, but she doesn’t have enough willpower to even contemplate denying them. Larec’s grip on her release warms, loosening until she’s on the cusp of orgasm, waiting for him to allow her to cum, and she whines and shakes under his hands.

_ My little Jedi, should I let you cum? _

_ Yesyesyesyes please Master please, please may I cum? _

Teeth catch on her lip and she pants, opening her eyes to stare pleadingly at the Sith as he pulls away. _ Please, Master? _

“Do you remember what will happen if I let you cum?” 

She doesn’t remember beyond terror, but so much of her day has been terror, and she just wants to forget for a while longer. Shaking her head, she shrinks back, afraid of what could happen if mas—the Sith doesn’t like her answer. “I-no, Master, please, I don’t, please, I’m sorry…”

Hair is brushed behind her ears, and she glanced fearfully into her master—Larec’s eyes. He’s smiling at her, gently and forgiving, and she relaxes a little when his palm rests against her cheek, hot tears slipping down her face.

“It’s alright, little one. I’ll remember for you,” he said softly, pressing his lips to her forehead and stroking sweat-soaked hair from her face. “You are such a good girl for me, my beautiful little Jedi, begging me so sweetly.”

Fingers trail between her breasts, drifting languidly down her body to trace her swollen, dripping sex, and she arched towards him, a needy whimper escaping her. Without realizing it, her lips were moving, forming ‘Master, please,’ over and over, and he chuckled, before drawing away slightly, and then something solid is pressed snug against her, and Sharya cries out, hips jerking.

The deliciously solid thing between her legs is molding to her, caressing her perfectly as she grinds against it, whimpering cries falling from her lips without shame as master let her pleasure herself; he had one hand locked around her throat, dragging her into a breath-stealing kiss, fingers tightening as her peak came closer, his voice flitting deeper into her mind.

_ Beautiful, clever Sharya, my little Jedi, my apprentice; give yourself to me, let me in as you _ ** _cum_ ** _ for me— _

The feel of the thing molded against her core shifted, changed and slid into her, penetrating her in time with the spasms of her hips. The Sith—_ Master _, a tiny voice whimpered in the back of Sharya’s mind; she ignored it in favor of keeping her sanity a little longer—was biting her throat and growling encouragement into her mind and ears, one hand now tangled with her hair and the other clenched on her breast in a grasp so tight it hurt. Tension coiled low in her belly, and she was so close, so so close, she just needed a little more—

“Say it, my apprentice. Say it and I will grant you your desire.”

Sharya begged.

“Please, harder, harder, I need to cum, please make me cum, Master—“

The words babbled out of her, a litany that she couldn’t stop. It was like a floodgate had been opened, and Larec took full advantage, slipping his tongue back into her mouth and devouring her cries. He was using the force to grope and squeeze and caress Sharya, his mind fully linked with hers, creating a loop of pleasure between them; she could feel how hard he was, the tender plumpness of her breasts and ass in his hands, saw the bruises his teeth had left on her skin. She could feel how tightly her muscles were clenching on him, and she cried out at the realization of what he was penetrating her with.

His teeth biting on her lower lip finally tumbled her over the edge of orgasm, and she came, shaking and crying. 

Her pleasure spilled over into the link Larec had built between them, and Sharya howled again when Larec growled into her skin; he was gripping his cock tightly, pumping it one-handed, while the other was curled into her hair. Another wave of pleasure echoed back to her, and her belly was splattered with hot liquid, triggering one last sympathetic orgasm that left her limp and gasping. 

Eyes dropping closed, and head lulling slowly to the side, she obediently licked the fingers he placed at her lips with a soft command, cleaning them of salty-musky-faintly bitter, body shivering through aftershocks almost as powerful as her initial orgasm. Once she had cleaned every bit from his hand, her cheek was cupped and lips pressed against hers briefly.

Exhausted, Sharya blinked open heavy eyes when footsteps echoed in the cell. Larec was further away now, tucking himself in his robes, a pleased, satisfied look in his golden eyes as he looked at her.

“Oh, yes. I was right about you, you _ are _ special.”

Larec stepped away from Sharya, back towards the cell door, and gave his fingers a soft snap. The containment field powered down with an abrupt whine, dumping Sharya to the floor. 

She managed to catch herself on shaking limbs before she slammed her hip on the cone of the containment field, and stared up at Larec in open-mouthed shock. The cuffs at her wrists and ankles fell off with a clatter, and lay in pieces on either side of her. Slowly, she pulled herself to her knees, arms wrapping around herself tightly as she stared at the Sith in disbelief.

“I—you—you’re—“ Sharya stopped, swallowed, and tried again, voice harsh and raspy, trying to ignore the cooling stain under one forearm. “You’re letting me go?”

“Yes. You are free now from the restraints.” He smiled at her confusion, and, unhooking her lightsaber from his belt, held it out to her, hilt first. “Here is your saber. You may do as you wish.”

He had to drop to one knee and press it into her unresisting hands when she just kept staring at him, curling her unresponsive fingers around the heavy cylinder. The solid weight of her lightsaber in her hands and the faint, familiar hum from the crystals inside was enough to clear some of the haze from her mind. She looked up at Larec, still kneeling before her, feeling jittery and wary, fragile and exhausted. 

"I can… Leave? Just like that?" Sharya paused, shuddering, free hand going to her shorn hair. Before she had been captured, it had fallen to her hips in long honey blonde waves when not braided up out of the way. Now, her fingers find chunks of short hair, and her breath hitches. "Your soldiers. They won't…"

Her voice lowers to a horrified whisper, almost unable to bear the thought, let alone give it voice at this point. “She won’t try to stop me?”

“Captain Nasaade won’t even look at you,” Larec said, smile deepening enough that she could see faint crow’s feet form. “As I said, you are free to do as you wish. If you desire to leave here and return to your masters, you may. I will not stop you.”

Her next breath is shaky as she tries to continue, needing to know, to understand what _ exactly _ has changed. 

“Why,” she asked, voice trembling. 

She wanted to know, had to know, even with a new itchy bond in place in her head, why; why she was being freed, why she was special. Why he had chosen Lira.

For a moment, golden eyes study her, sliding up and down her body, the exact same tilt to his head as earlier. She shivers, remembers the force gripping her breasts, and is surprised when she doesn’t feel that invisible touch again. 

“I told you, little Jedi.” The word feels less like an insult now, and more like a pet name, and she wonders at the fondness she can feel from him. “You are special. If you were not special, if I hadn’t felt you enter the system broadcasting your pain and rage, I wouldn’t have wasted my time with you, not even as Lira’s sister. Nasaade would have gotten the answers she wanted one way or another, without my help.”

At the thought of being given to Naasade with no oversight, no one to stop her, Sharya shudders. 

And then she can’t stop. 

Her hands are starting to tremble, and she has a vague thought about blood sugar, and shock, and, oddly enough, when she last ate. She can’t remember, and she feels like crying again. 

She could go home? 

This, this _ Sith _ was giving her a _ choice _ ? She wasn’t going to be forced to stay here, even after she felt him ( _ let him _, some deep part of her whispered, sounding betrayed) weave a bond between them, a bond that even now resonated in her mind? 

If she went home, would the Council sense the darkness now inside her? What would happen to her then? Exile? Execution? And. The Sith had said he could take her to her sister, but Sith _ lied _, how could she know he was actually taking her to Lira and not some auction block? 

Slowly, Sharya bows down over her knees, lightsaber clutched in her hand, hunching her head and shoulders as if to ward off a blow. It feels like there’s iron bands wrapped around her chest, and she can’t catch her breath.

She knows then that she's reached the end of her endurance, knows that she doesn't have much longer before she breaks down completely; even if she is truly free to leave, even if Larec tried to force her out, she's not sure she could make it to the hallway beyond her cell without help, much less all the way back to her little shuttle alone. 

But what would happen if she stayed? 

A soft, heavy weight abruptly falls across her head and shoulders, and Sharya clutches at it instinctively, tugging it off before exhausted panic can flare further. The soft, heavy thing that had dropped onto her was Larec’s outer robe, leaving him standing in slightly rumpled black tunics and trousers in front of her, a patient look on his face. 

She stares blankly at him for a moment, before the fabric catches her attention, and she runs her fingers along it, feeling patterns in the cloth that she can’t quite figure out. Another quick glance shows that Larec is wearing a slight smile, as if he had expected her reaction, and that settles it.

The robe under her fingers is soft as she pulls it around herself without a word. She is abruptly freezing, and the robe is deliciously warm from Larec’s body heat; it smells faintly of sex and adult male and some fragrant spice and she’s not sure if she’s supposed to find this much comfort in it.

It's a little difficult to pull it on one-handed, but she refuses to let go of her lightsaber, and the robe ends up slung around her shoulders like a cloak, both hands hidden beneath thick, black cloth. Sharya’s lightsaber is in a white-knuckled grip, but she keeps her fingers positioned away from the control panel with only a little effort, and wonders at how much calmer she feels, even though she is still on her knees in front of a Sith. 

A soft chuckle drags her attention away from the welcome warmth, and back to the Sith. Eyes gleaming, he smiles a little wider at her, and holds one hand in front of him, waiting to pull her to her feet.

Larec’s robe is too big for her; if she wore it properly, the sleeves would end far past her fingers, and the knee-length edge of it would still hit her toes. Sharya ignores the hand he courteously holds out to her, and drags herself to her feet, only to somehow catch it underfoot. She goes down with a yelp, an aborted flail, and a growing hatred for floors.

Something solid catches her around the middle before she can fall, and she opens her eyes to see that Larec had caught her. Easily setting her back on her feet, he stands back and smirks.

“Do you usually fall this much, or is it a special occasion?”

Sharya has to stare at him for a moment, mind blank as she processed his words.

“Did. Did you really.” 

She can’t bring herself to finish the question, and sighs, eyes dropping closed in exasperation. Of course she would get tortured by the one Sith who liked puns.

_ And of course I would also get the one who likes to eavesdrop, _ she thought acidly when Larec caught her first thought and laughed.

“Whoever told you that Sith aren’t allowed a sense of humor was wrong, Sharya,” he responded pleasantly. He tilted his head a little then, golden eyes turning serious. “Have you decided? Remember, I will not stop you, no matter your choice.”

Again, he says that word, and Sharya can feel her panic rising. _ Choices, I have choices, why is he giving me so many, I can’t— _

Warmth at her lips breaks her train of thought, and she blinks, only just realizing that she had begun to shake again, that her vision had begun to tunnel out. Larec pulls away, and then places a hand on her shoulder; warmth flows into her from the bond, and she feels tense muscles start to relax.

“I think the evening has finally been a bit much for you,” he said, tone apologetic; she blinked at hearing it, but the warmth from the bond was far more interesting as it curled around her spine. “Come. I will take you somewhere safe. You can make a decision later.”

Safe? 

Safe sounded good. Numbly, she nodded, not even noticing Larec’s hand slip from her shoulder to her waist, pulling her closer to him as they approached the locked door.

The cell door opens slowly, and, even through this odd numbness, she feels her heart thump in her chest at the thought of walking through that door. 

Sharya had walked through that door a Jedi; leashed and bound, but a Jedi still. 

What was she now?

~_ fin _


	3. Disarmament

Flinching back from the brilliant light of the hall as it leaks into the cell, Sharya jumps when she feels Larec’s hand tighten on her waist; it’s possible he meant it as a comfort, but she’s tensing up, the numbness thinning as she became aware of the complex outside her cell once again. Her mind quickly felt scraped raw by the background hum of rage and agony as the Sith gently led her through the thick cell door, her shattered defenses useless against the dark miasma of the temple.

Shutting her eyes against the mirror gleam of the floor plating, she has to trust the hand guiding her as she presses into Larec’s side. Faint screams are echoing from one of the cells behind them, and through the itchy bond in her head, she knows that the Sith is absentmindedly gathering the agony from the cell’s unfortunate occupant, directing it into something deep below them. Biting down on a frightened whine, Sharya forcibly turned her attention inward, away from the building around her so she could start rebuilding her shields. 

A sudden flare of alarm drew her back out before she had done more than poke at the crumbled ruins of her inner shields, the muddied force around her whispering of warning and fear behind the distant pain. She opens her eyes to find that they have made it to the central chamber of the cell block, and swallows another whine; Larec’s hand has slipped from her waist as he advanced into the room a little, leaving her alone at the mouth of the hall; breath quickening, she steps back further into the hall, preferring to face the agony at her back rather than the still terrifying soldiers in front of her.

When she can finally bring herself to follow his gaze, she takes another step back as she recognizes the soldier from earlier; he's taken off his helmet again, and his eyes dart to her before fixing on the wall in front of him. Smith is still at the console, movements tense as he worked, but Larec ignored him, stalking straight to the soldier and staring him down, arms crossed over his still rumpled tunics.

Meanwhile, the soldier is staring dead ahead, as if pretending that the Sith isn’t standing in front of him will make him go away. A manic urge to giggle tries to rise in her, but she bites it back; she tried that already, and she knows it doesn’t work.

Larec steps closer to the soldier; violence is radiating from him, and, feeling it again, even knowing it’s not directed at her, her breath catches in her throat. “Which hand did you touch her with.”

“M-my lord?” Startled, the soldier locks eyes with Larec, hands tightening on the blaster rifle slung across his chest. 

“Which. Hand. Touched. Her,” the Sith bites out, seeming to loom without moving, and Sharya jerks at the sensation of shadows moving just out of eyesight, curling into herself and pressing desperately against the wall, eyes shutting in terror. 

When the soldier stammered out a denial, it felt like darkness was coiling into the room, surrounding Larec in a slow, cool vortex without stirring a thing.

“My lord, I d-didn’t, not one,” he said, face whitening as he lied. 

_ Sharya? Which hand touched you first? _

She twitched at hearing Larec’s voice in her mind, but responded quickly, not sure she wanted to know why. _ His right. _

_ Thank you. _

Now that she can feel the force again, she feels the flex of his energy as it moves, crawling into the soldier and changing… something. The soldier grunts, his right hand twitching as Larec channeled power into him, and Sharya’s giggle dies in her throat when the soldier falls to his knees and starts screaming.

Larec is standing still in front of him, arms crossed, and body language bored; through their bond, she knows that Larec is viciously amused, that the increasingly shrill screams are feeding something dark and horrible inside him as the soldier clutches his wrist. His right hand is curling into a claw, and Sharya gasps in horror; ice is forming on the outside of the soldier’s armor, crawling up from his fingertips to circle his wrist and forearm. 

There is a faint, crystalline grinding sound, and a sudden spray of sparkling red erupts, scattering across the command room floor; tiny red chunks clink musically as they hit plating, bouncing to cover half of the floor in a fine layer. Sharya gags at the gruesome sight, and at the savage satisfaction Larec is projecting as he turns away from the soldier, who has fallen to the floor, clutching the frozen ruin of his right arm to his chest and howling.

The Sith looks back to where she has edged well into the hall, and holds out one hand to her expectantly, palm up, a slight, cold smirk on his lips. “Shall we?”

Feeling her shoulders tighten, Sharya swallows, and forces herself to leave the shelter of the hall. The closer she got to Larec, the more she shook; the soldier was still shouting in pain, curled into a ball on the floor. None of the other guards were looking at him, but there was a palpable air of terror, shock, and horrified disgust in the force. Oddly, Smith was a lone spot of resigned acceptance, as if he had expected something like this.

Later reflection will also make her realize that she had expected it, as well; when he had been digging through her memories, Larec had come across what the soldier had tried to do, and Sharya had felt a flash of deep rage even through the lust and pain he had subjected her to.

Right now, however, all she feels is numb horror, and an urgent need to be sick, her stomach churning. The smallest of the chunks are already melting, turning to speckles of red, sliding down the wall behind the soldier and beginning to puddle on the floor. Trying not to step in… She swallowed, hard, clenching her eyes shut, and pausing, fingers going white-knuckled on lightsaber and robe as she fought her stomach. Her feet are growing sticky as she crosses the small room, and she tried desperately not to think about what she was stepping in.

Trying to avoid the mess is almost impossible the closer she gets, until she reaches Larec; there’s a meter wide circle around him, clean of gore until she leaves bloody footprints in it. 

Sharya can’t bring herself to take his hand; she simply edges close enough that he could touch her if he wanted, her head ducking, eyes scrunched closed so she wouldn’t have to acknowledge what the nauseating slick under her feet is.

“Please,” she whimpered hoarsely when she felt his hand on her shoulder. She’s not even sure what she’s asking him for, only that she doesn’t want to be here any longer.

Wordlessly, Larec tucks her in against his side and moves to the door, keeping his stride short so she doesn’t have to try and keep up. She's almost grateful; she’s keeping her eyes shut until her feet don’t stick to the floor, struggling to erect shattered, useless shields against the pain and terror that’s swamping the force. She’s too busy trying to control her own horror, as well, to notice that his hand slides down to curl around her hip possessively as they walk, leaving the screaming, bleeding soldier behind them. 

She thinks they’re almost to the door when Larec paused; startled, Sharya jerks to a stop at the soft press of his hand against her hip, certain it had not been there before. A quick peek proved that it was his hand, and she glanced up, almost afraid to look.

Smith had stood up behind his console, and was addressing Larec, voice respectful. “My lord,” he said, dipping his head in a bow. “How would you like to proceed with corporal Joren?”

Larec’s eyebrow rose slightly, and, in a cool voice, he said, “What do we usually do with the trash? Throw it outside. He was foolish enough to touch my apprentice, and stupid enough to try and deny it.”

“Very well, my lord,” Smith answered. “Have a good night, my lord, my lady.”

Sharya feels her face whiten at the title, but allows herself to be led through the bulkhead, head dropping once more. 

Unlike when she had arrived at the cellblock, the halls were nearly deserted of guards, techies, and soldiers; there were, however, droids busily cleaning and repairing various areas, utterly ignoring both Sharya and Larec. The occasional being passed them, but unlike before, there was no reaction to her presence beyond a brief double look before stepping aside from Larec’s path, and standing at ease while they passed.

This did nothing to keep her heart from thumping faster each time their eyes flicked to her, certain that _ something _ would happen, that someone would try to take her from Larec, and her feet would be sticky with blood once more. Outwardly, Larec paid the beings no attention: but with each person they passed, his hold on her would tighten briefly, and warm reassurance from the bond would soothe her enough that she could keep walking, her hands shaking only slightly under the borrowed robe.

Fortunately for Sharya’s nerves, her feet quickly lose the tacky feeling of half-dried blood as they walk, becoming coated in the dust kicked up by the droids, and hiding the still visible reddish stains on her toes. She’s finally able to keep her eyes open, and study her surroundings, knowing automatically that Naasade hadn’t taken her this way; the halls are wider than what she had seen, the metal polished to a mirror-like sheen the further they go.

She isn’t sure anymore where she is in the complex, and so when Larec stops to wait for a lift to arrive, she glances up at him before hesitantly placing her palm against the wall, checking to see if he stops her. When all she receives is vague curiosity over the bond and a raised brow, she closes her eyes, and stretches out with the force, ignoring him while she traces the lines of power and water through as many levels as she could reach.

Apparently, there are multiple cell blocks on this level, arranged in a rough circle, which is. Odd. Most cell blocks she’s seen have been arranged in squares. Several levels directly below the cell blocks, she finds what might be the answer; at what felt like the deepest part of the complex was a darkness that pulls at her the second she draws close, trying to drag her into a swirling vortex of monstrous rage and hatred and pain.

Gasping and wide-eyed, she breaks contact with the wall, stumbling back into Larec, not even minding the hand he placed on her shoulder, keeping her pressed into his chest as she begins shivering. She is so cold that his touch burns like a furnace, sending uncomfortable pins and needles all along her back and shoulders.

“Well,” he murmured as he loosely draped his arms around her. “Isn’t that a neat little trick. Did someone teach that to you?”

Eyes still wide with shock, she slowly shakes her head, curling her arms around her middle. She had never sensed such a thing before, and it felt like her mind was covered in filth from just the one brief touch. 

“I-I’ve always known how,” she stammers, before swallowing and tilting her head to look into molten gold. “What is that? That… thing.. it’s…”

She can feel the rumble in his chest as he hums, and has to wonder if he’s planning on answering her or not. Finally, he breathes a sigh into her hair before resting his chin on her head.

“Little Jedi,” Larec says, and fondness echoes down the bond to her. “I know if I don’t tell you, you’re going to hunt down the answer yourself. As you are now, encountering it will most likely drive you mad.” 

“This temple was built overtop a very powerful dark side wellspring. Some two hundred years ago, it was abandoned by the Sith line that had built it.” Feeling her shiver at his words, Larec nuzzled at her hair lazily, arms tightening briefly. “You will be safe where we are going, my Jedi. It is shielded from the more unpleasant side effects of living over a well.”

He paused for a moment, and Sharya felt a delicate touch in her head before he continues. “And those should be more than capable of handling the rest.”

Sharya can’t quite stop a shocked breath; shields are being built around her, bringing with them a welcome silence that her shattered defenses couldn’t provide. The lingering pain and rage and darkness can’t touch her anymore, locked out of her mind by Larec’s own shielding. Tension that she hadn’t even noticed began to drain from her, and she relaxed into the Sith’s hold, grateful tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

It didn’t make her forget that he was the one who had broken her defenses in the first place, but if it helped to keep her sane, she would accept the shields until she could rebuild her own.

A few minutes later, a lift arrives, and the hiss of the doors opening brought Naasade to mind, leash in her hand, and Sharya stiffened in panic, a whimper lodged in her throat when the Sith tried to urge her forward. It hadn’t been around her neck for hours now, but she could feel the inhibitor collar tight on her throat, and slender hands touching her, and she lets out a low, frightened moan, pressing against the firm warmth behind her to avoid whatever was waiting for her in the lift.

Words are being murmured into her ear, but her heart is beating too fast and she can’t understand what’s being said. It’s only when a hand covers her eyes that she can gasp in a breath, sound filtering back slowly as she struggled to continue breathing against the blind panic overtaking her.

“You’re alright, Sharya, it’s okay,” Larec was saying soothingly, one arm snaking around her waist to pull her flush against him. She whines softly, but doesn’t fight the movement, fingers gripping desperately at his sleeve, eyes scrunching closed as he keeps whispering calming nonsense into her ears. “You are safe, my Jedi.”

Force, was she going to have panic attacks about _ lifts _ now _ ? _

He presses a kiss to her hair, enveloping her in warm reassurance as he gently nudged her forward, into the box, where he leaned next to the control pad and held her as she shook in his arms, her face pressed to his chest, his chin resting firmly on her head.

Not long after leaving the lift, Sharya’s exhausted body finally gives out. Her legs, already trembling from the effort of staying upright and moving, collapse, and in what is quickly becoming a common occurrence, she falls, slipping from Larec’s grip. She lands awkwardly, legs akimbo and hands bracing herself from falling further; blood rushes to her face when Larec clicks his tongue at her. 

"Little Jedi, I don't require you on your knees at all times," he said, amused. 

This time he doesn't wait for Sharya to try and stand on her own; he bends down and, gathering her to his chest, stands up with her in an effortless bridal carry. 

A flare of temper from somewhere makes her snarl at him, hands shoving uselessly at his chest. 

"Put me down! I can walk just fine," she insists, even as her arms shake with exhaustion. Under her hands, his torso is firm, solid muscle not even twitching. 

"Really? Because it looked to me like you had fallen." 

Mouth opening and closing a few times, she finally settled for glaring at nothing, fisting her hands in the robe wrapped around her. The Sith continued walking, but Sharya couldn't let him have the last word. 

"That was a terrible pun the first time," she grumbled, burrowing further into the robe; he was holding her so securely that not even this shifted his grip.

She knew Larec was smirking without looking up; the sinewy bond between them echoes with his amusement, and she fights off a shiver.

She’s not sure when, but at some point she dozed off, her breath gradually deepening as her head drooped wearily to rest against his chest. The near-silent rumble of air through powerful lungs under her cheek might have helped, or maybe it was the warm, pleased feeling sinking into her from the bond that made her tense body relax enough to sleep.

Her memory of the journey from the cell block is so foggy it might as well not have happened; aside from the memory of razor-sharp embarrassment from having to be carried, and the terror she had felt at seeing a _ lift _, she didn’t remember anything beyond cold metal under her feet, and later, an almost furnace-like warmth pressing against her side. 

Either way, Sharya blinks open heavy eyes and lifts her head to look around when she senses walls close in on them, a door sliding shut behind them.

Bulky shadows hint at scattered furniture, and the soft tapping of boots on plating has disappeared. Darting a look upward gives her nothing to go off of; Larec’s eyes are illuminating his face just enough to cast faint shadows on his cheekbones, but his expression is unchanged.

They pass through another doorway, and Sharya blinks sharply as lights come up, blinded by the abrupt change.

When she can see, the room proves to be a luxurious ‘fresher, tiled in white and pink veined black marble that’s surprisingly warm under her feet when Larec swings her down. At first, she’s relieved; she wants to scrub herself until she can no longer feel hands on her, pinning her and touching her, and the large shower stall she can see looks to have multiple shower heads behind thickly glazed glass doors.

But when Larec continues past her instead of leaving, she feels her shoulders tighten. Checking on the bond between them tells her that he’s focused on… Cleaning? She blinked, and then felt her eyes narrow a little. He was going to try and _ bathe _ her? 

“I can wash myself, you know,” she announced, quickly adding a hasty, stuttering, “Master.” 

Opening the door to the right of the wide counter on the other side of the ‘fresher, he reaches inside, not even looking at her as he replied. 

“I don’t care,” he said. “Hang the robe beside the door, and strip off those rags, then get in the shower.”

Sharya bristled and tightened her grip on the robe, abruptly aware that her lightsaber is clipped back onto Larec’s belt, and struggling to contain that sudden spike of fear. 

He felt her defiance in their bond, for he paused in his rummaging, and waited a beat, the gentleness he had shown earlier quickly evaporating as he straightened slightly, shoulders drawing back.

“That was an _ order_, little one.” His voice dropped an octave, and for a moment, the change in tone throws her back in the containment field, helpless and open before him.

She swallows, one foot edging back without her notice. Somehow, she finds the courage to do something Incredibly Stupid.

“No.” The word emerged as a squeak instead of the strong denial she wanted it to be, and she barely controlled the urge to hunch protectively.

His head tilted back towards her, until she can see one narrow golden eye, then he turns, absently placing a pair of plush towels on the wide countertop as he leaned both hands against it, facing her. 

“Sharya.” 

Her name falls from his lips, and she shudders at the promise of violence in his voice; very briefly, Sharya wonders if she’s going insane or if the drug is still inside her when heat flooded her veins. 

“I do believe we have gone over the price of resisting me,” he said slowly, both eyes narrowed as he stared her down.

The palms of her hands are sweating, and she wants to look away from that burning gaze. Another beat of silence and his slight frown deepens. In the force, his energy is flexing, a predator roused by the scent of blood and weakness.

Heart pounding in her chest, she swallowed against a mouth gone desert dry, and finally bowed her head in submission, every inch of her shaking from fear and remembered pain. 

She almost forgets, but she manages not to drop the robe, to turn and hang it on a rounded hook next to the door. The hair on the back of her exposed neck is rising, and she can feel his eyes on her. Keeping her back turned to Larec, she begins to tug at the ragged remains of her camisole.

“Turn. Around.” His voice was a low rumble, and his irritation rolled down the bond towards her; she jumped, and froze, shirt pulled halfway up her chest. “I have already tasted you, claimed you. I will see all of you, be it by your will or mine.”

Before she can think about what she’s doing, she faces him, ignoring the blood rising to her skin in a full-body flush, and peels the shirt off. Her leggings, waistband long since torn by his hands, now held together only by a flimsy knot, don’t take much more than a nudge or two to fall off her hips, and then she’s standing naked before the Sith. 

Daring to raise her head, Sharya still can’t stop herself from trying to hide her breasts behind crossed arms as she glances at him. Cool air brushes along her inner thighs teasingly and the only thing keeping her from trying to shield herself lower is the stern look he leveled at her.

One eyebrow rises slowly, and she lowered her crossed arms, cheeks flaming and hands clenching and unclenching by her sides. Blinking away the threat of more tears, she fixes her gaze back on the floor in front of her.

“If you can’t keep still, put your hands behind your back.” 

The Jedi calm she had tried to project in the cell is nowhere in sight, now; Sharya jumped at his voice, and Larec held back a sigh. Her hands do stop fidgeting, finally stilling at her sides, but he can see the lines of tension in her, muscles shifting as she struggled not to cover herself against his sight. The too-quick rise and fall of her chest, the way she was biting her bottom lip and the tears standing in her eyes, are all tells that she can’t hide anymore.

He would have to be far gentler than he had previously planned, if the mere sound of a stern voice sent his apprentice into panicked terror, and he makes a note to alter the half-formed training plan he had come up with. She wouldn’t be able to bear the touch of the dark if she remained in this state.

Carefully broadcasting his movements while taking his annoyance under control, Larec straightened and approached Sharya slowly, making sure that his boots scuffed the floor as he walked. She still trembled when he reached for her, tilting her head up and to the side; there, at the join of neck and shoulder, is a dark crescent of teeth marks, and he brushes his fingers over it, pressing lightly to check the give of the flesh.

“Naasade did this to you?” 

Violet eyes glance up at him before she nods once, gaze returning to the tiled floor.

Taking his time, Larec circled Sharya, eyeing and feeling every bruise and visible hurt. He had let Naasade loose on the girl after all, and while she was good at following orders, Naasade had a loose understanding of the term "minimal injuries."

Gentle prodding at a blotchy patch of skin on her lower ribs makes her hiss, and Sharya jerked away when his fingers try to check the back of her skull. A scrape on her cheekbone is crusted with blood, but when he lightly brushed his thumb next to it, she doesn't react beyond a quick flinch. Her wrists have almost solid dark rings of bruises from hands smaller than his, and he felt his frown deepen when he finds a faint bump on the outside of her left wrist; her face goes white at the light touch, jaw working as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep silent, and he adjusted his mental evaluation from cracked to broken.

He had left his own marks on her as well, however; a vivid handprint was wrapped around the front of her throat, her neck and collarbones peppered with his bitemarks; his cum stained her stomach, and his fingertips were bruised into her breasts and hips. He smirked at the impressive hickey he'd left on Sharya’s clavicle, brushing his fingers over it and making her shiver, eyes dropping half-closed, her nipples hardening further in the cool air of the ‘fresher and making her flush. 

Sharya’s back turned out to be the worst of her injuries, however; from her upper shoulders down to her tailbone, her skin was mottled with dark bruises, but the girl was so tense from terror that she must not have felt it yet. Lightly dragging his fingertips along the rectangular marks overtop her kidneys, left by the binders from when the trash and Naasade had shoved her into walls, causes Sharya to flinch, but not as hard as he expected. 

“How much does this hurt?” He asked, again tracing his fingers along the deep purple bruises. “Be honest, please.”

She hunched down, but answered quickly, voice shaking. “M-more than my ribs, but not as much as my wrist?”

“Thank you,” he murmured, finishing his examination with a glance at the ragged mop of blonde hair as he finished his circuit around her.

The chunky stranded mess desperately needed to be evened out from what Naasade had left it as, but he wasn't about to go find scissors and leave Sharya alone just yet. Instead, he simply brushed hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, and told her, “You can have this taken care of by someone trained to do it tomorrow, or I can try and use a knife to the same effect tonight. Which do you prefer?”

It was painfully obvious that Sharya wasn’t expecting any choices; the panic he had seen in the cell rises in her eyes before she closes them, her body beginning to shake as her breathing quickened.

"I-I don't... " She swallows and ducks her head further down between her shoulders. "Tomorrow? Please?"

Still moving slowly, he draws her to his chest, tucking her head under his chin until the minute shivers ceased, and her hands crept up to clutch at the fabric of his tunic. 

"Very well, my Jedi," he said softly, hands gentle as he stroked her back. 

A brief check on the bond shows that Larec is succeeding in his efforts to soothe his apprentice; she is still deeply terrified of him, but the deeper exhaustion he’s been manipulating since her panic attack in the lift is once again subsuming the terror, her body giving in and slowly relaxing. The shields he had placed around her mind are holding strong, and he can sense her own shielding being rebuilt a fraction at a time, following the patterns he had set in place overtop Sharya’s broken shields.

He had done his job of breaking her defenses a little too well, perhaps; her shields had been very well built for one so young, requiring him to use far more of his strength than he had thought needed. As things stood now, however, unless he allowed her time to rebuild them, his shields were the only things keeping the dark side well far below them from tainting Sharya, and twisting her mind to the breaking point.

_ Which reminds me, _he thinks, a slight smirk curling his lips.

_ Naasade. _

There's a startled flare of cursing as he reached out to the Mandalorian. _ What the FUCK, Larec?! I told you I would be in my bunk!! _

Smirk widening, Larec shifts his grip on Sharya as she hesitantly snuggles into him, wrapping one arm around her waist and curling a hand around the back of her neck. Very carefully, he starts moving towards the shower stall, keeping his mental conversation with Naasade quiet.

_ Kick your toys out of bed, I have errands for you to run. _

Another snarl, and the faint echo of a pained squeal, followed by an acid-laced voice.

_ Yes, my lord, what can I, your humble servant, do for you, my lord? _

_ No need to be so sarcastic, Naasade, _ he sends, amused. _ Bring tea to my quarters, drug the sugar, get supplies from medical, and fetch Sharya’s personal items from the shuttle. Make sure not to leave anything useful. _

There's a buzz of interest at the name, and he can hear the purr in her voice. _ Sharya, hmm? So, the pretty Jedi has a name… _

_ My pretty apprentice has a name, _ he corrects, a hint of threat curling through the words.

_ Hmph. Fine, keep all the shiny toys to yourself. _

There’s a beat of silence before it sinks in, and he grins, counting down the seconds.

_ Wait. Did you say send, or bring? _

_ Bring, _ he sends smugly. _ As in, bring the tea yourself to my quarters. _

Lusty background thoughts grind to a halt as Naasade turns her full attention to him, and her next words are a threatening snarl. _Why, exactly, am I suddenly the only person around here who can bring _you tea_?_

_ Naasade, you are the one who did most of this to her, and you are going to fix it. Get the medical supplies and drug the damn sugar, that stimulant you gave her is still in her system. _

_ Bah. It’s not my fault she can’t handle the good drugs. And besides, those useless slicers haven’t even cracked the ship yet, how am I supposed to get her shit? _

_ I believe the phrase is, Not my problem. _

Still bitching, Naasade pulls away from his contact, and he allows it, letting his full attention drift back to the girl in his arms, who had tensed up as soon as she had noticed where he was leading her. The bond is thrumming with nervous energy and a sense of humiliated shame, which won’t do.

Bending his head to nuzzle her hair, Larec adds another tactic, and reaches into Sharya, working delicately to relax the muscles along her spine. If things kept going at this rate, he would be lucky to get her clean and into bed before she passed out on her feet. Oh well. If what he was planning didn't knock her out for hours, the tea would do the trick.

“If you absolutely must have an explanation,” Larec says softly, sending warmth down the bond. “You have a concussion, damage to both inner ears, and multiple cracked bones, as well as deep tissue bruising. And that’s just what I detected with the force.”

Sharya goes still, as if she hadn’t realized exactly how badly she was hurt, and he can’t stop a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to fall and injure yourself further, little Jedi. Therefore, I am going into the shower with you. After this, you may shower alone.”

“Oh,” Sharya answers faintly. It’s all she can think of to say.

After that, she’s quiet as he ushers her into the stall, settling on the shallow bench carved into the south wall and waiting for him to join her, studying the shower for lack of anything better to do. 

The shower was the same pink and white veined marble that tiled the floor and made up the countertop of the sink, but instead of being tiles held together with mortar, it seemed shaped from a single, huge block of stone; carved into the polished northern wall was a series of small, arched niches, holding what she assumed were toiletries and soaps, while the west wall held the control knobs for the double row of five wide, square, metal showerheads set into the ceiling. 

Sections of the west wall had been left rough and unpolished, creating a striped pattern that she thought she recognized; smoothly polished wall alternating with half-meter wide vertical stripes of rough, barely worked stone ran floor to ceiling, while the south wall was polished smooth as the northern wall. The floor under her dusty feet was just rough enough that she probably wouldn’t slip, but given her recent terrible luck, she would take one step and land on her face.

Movement behind the thick glaze on the door drew her attention, and she glanced away from examining the shower in favor of watching Larec. Her current exhausted calm was a thin skin across the terror she had of the Sith, even with the bond connecting them; all the warm reassurance, fondness, and oddly possessive cuddling in the galaxy wasn’t enough to erase the nearness of her treatment at his hands, especially while she was naked, alone with him, and presumably in his rooms, overtop of a dark side wellspring, oh force, _ what am I going to do? _

The sound of the shower door opening thankfully drags her away from her panicked thoughts, and Sharya opens her eyes to see bare, muscled skin and a jolting slash of color across one shoulder. But then he faces her, and she darts her gaze up to the showerheads, cheeks heating; she’s burning with curiosity to see all of that brilliant shape inked across his back, but her eyes are level with his groin if she looks down, and she’s. Not quite ready to see that again. Ever.

She licks her lips, and tries to sound casual, like she bathed with strange men all the time, and not like an almost too young Jedi Knight way out of her depth. “You have tattoos?”

“Hmm?” Craning his head to look at his shoulder as if he had to check to see what Sharya was talking about, Larec then turned an amused look on her before moving to fuss with the knobs under the showerheads. “I do. Why, do you like them?”

Very carefully letting her eyes trail down from the ceiling until she can almost see the sinuous shape coiling down his right shoulder to his left hip, she has to stop when she realized that she was about to get an eyeful of buttocks, and her eyes dart back up again. From this angle, if she keeps her gaze locked on a thin scar running across his ribs, she can sort of see the end of the feathered tail that curled around the outside of his hip.

“I, uh. I was just curious,” she answers, ignoring the blush trying to spread down her neck. “The order, they don’t…”

She trails off, cringing as she realized what just came out of her mouth. Just then, water starts sputtering out of the showerheads, making her jump at the sudden noise. The water immediately starts slicking the Sith’s dark hair to his skull, and when she looked back at him, eyes wide, he shook his head, sighing.

“It’s alright, little Jedi,” Larec said softly. “I don’t mind talk of them, I just want nothing to do with them." Raising one hand, he beckoned her under the water, continuing only after she stood from the bench, limbs trembling slightly. "I've felt this way for longer than you've been alive and I'm not about to lose my temper at the mere mention of the Jedi order, no matter how stupid their council is."

A casual flick of power summons a rough cloth and soap from their niches in the north wall, and he motions for her to turn around. Still nervous, needle-like anxiety spiking their bond, Sharya obeys, turning her back to him and ducking fully under the water while he soaped up the cloth, unashamedly watching the play of water along her skin. Some of the dirt and dust was sluicing off of her already, but the rest would require scrubbing, not to mention the blood still staining her feet. 

The first touch of cloth across her shoulders makes her jump again, the muscles of her back twitching as he ran the cloth from one shoulder to the other, pausing to scrub the back of her neck. 

The force inhibitor that Naasade had been so enamoured of had left a faint band as wide as his thumb under the honey blonde strands, and he frowns at himself for missing it in his initial examination. Gentle prodding gets him a faint twitch of discomfort, but not much else, so he continues to work his way down her back and sides, finally able to directly touch the pressure points he had been manipulating earlier.

At least half of his job was being done for him by the water; it was steaming as it left the showerheads, easing the durasteel from her even as he triggered each nerve cluster, releasing tension from Sharya’s frame until she was leaning against the wall, shoulders slumping and forearms cradling her head from the rough stone. 

Leaning close to her, bracing his hands gently on her hips and rubbing circles into her hip flexors with his thumbs, he nuzzles her ear, prompting a soft sound from her throat. 

“Arms up, my Jedi,” he murmurs into her hair, closing teeth on her earlobe for a moment.

“Oh-okay,” she sighed, words slurring to a low moan when he moved to nip at the back of her neck.

Through a slow haze, Sharya moved, bracing herself against the wall so Larec could run the cloth along her arms, gently cleaning her of the dirt and dried sweat that had been on her all night. Vaguely, she wondered if the Sith was manipulating her before dismissing the thought, wearily letting her head drop back to rest against stone.

_ It wouldn’t matter, anyway, _ she thinks distantly, feeling desire ripple across the bond between her and the Sith; heat of her own curled through her, and she could already feel herself slicking with each touch. _ I’ve already called him master. _

Rough cloth wrapped around her throat, and she swallowed a soft moan, pressing against Larec’s palm; a low chuckle tickled her ear, fingers squeezing lightly before releasing her, following the tingling edge of her collarbone down to circle her breasts. She gasped when the cloth scraped across her nipples, her sex pulsing as the gesture was repeated slower, his large hands easily cupping her full breasts and kneading gently.

To actually feel nothing but hands and water on her skin was setting a fire inside her, tension coiling even as the Sith gradually relaxed her muscles with his careful massaging. Moaning again, she pressed back against him, arching as Larec’s hands drifted down to run across her flat stomach, enjoying the differences between bare fingers and rough, soapy cloth as he washed her.

Just before his fingers reached her sex, he drew back, pressing another kiss to the back of her neck, murmuring, “Go sit on the bench, beautiful Jedi.”

Nodding, she obeys without much thought, finding the carved bench and settling on it. For a shower stall as large as this, the stone should have still been cool beneath her skin, but it was just as warm as the tiled floor had been, heat sinking into her at every contact point. 

A soft noise gets her attention, giving her just enough warning that she doesn’t jump when Larec’s hand curls gently around her throat. His palm settling firmly against her skin and squeezing makes her whine; letting him tilt her head back until she’s staring quietly into molten gold, Sharya’s eyes close when he leans down and kisses her, his lips moving languidly against hers as his grip slowly tightened.

Her hands are pressed firmly against her thighs, fingers going white knuckled as her heartbeat pounded in her head; her lungs were beginning to ache, but he had taken her further than this in the cell, and she moaned in soft disappointment when his grip slackened before she was ready, eyes opening to see that he’s now on his knees before her.

Puzzled, Sharya drew in a quick breath when his hands touched her legs, gently easing them apart as he pressed forward, head dipping to lap at the water running down her thigh. An invisible hand forms around her neck, pushing her back into the wall as her wrists were absently tucked behind her back, held by a durasteel band; hot slick runs up her other leg, and teeth close lightly on the inside of her knee.

Groaning, she let her head fall back against the smooth marble; Larec was pressing small, sucking kisses to the insides of her thighs, his molten eyes gleaming as she panted for breath. He was drawing closer and closer to her sex, hot breath caressing her skin before he licked her slit, tongue flat and firm against her; fire shot through her veins at the touch, a needy moan falling from her lips.

The gentle force grip holding her against the marble eased, just enough that Larec could slide his hands under her ass and draw her forward, positioning her so that he could spread her legs fully apart and press an open-mouthed kiss against her sex, tongue slipping between her folds. Gasping at the hot slick circling her clit, Sharya’s back arched, struggling not to press into his mouth even as spots began dancing in the corners of her vision.

Golden eyes peer up at her and she shudders, hips stuttering as she tried not to press against him; fingers are slipped inside her, curling to teasingly stroke a spot inside that set off fireworks behind her eyes. She can’t stop herself from bucking after that, eyes slitting open and whimpering out a slight apology; one eyebrow rose before he pointedly buried his face between her thighs, his mouth hot against her. Long, firm strokes of his tongue on her clit made her cry out breathlessly, hips finally bucking weakly into his touch.

Head dropping back again, Sharya knew she was making noise, could feel her throat vibrating with every whimper, but Larec’s force grip on her remained firm, cutting off her air. Eyes dropping closed, she groped after the bond, finding careful attention and warm reassurance overtop the desire and lust.

_ Shhh, sweet Jedi, shhh, _ he murmured into her mind, hands gentle as he stroked her shaking thighs. _ Trust me, little one. I know how far I can push you, and we are nowhere near the point of true danger yet. _

But his grip still eased on her throat, allowing her a few grateful, shallow breaths that set off stars behind her eyes, and she arched into his mouth with a hitching cry. A pleased growl rumbled his chest, and sudden suction at her clit, followed by the scrape of teeth on tender flesh, continued until tears fell from her eyes, until she was bucking to pull away from Larec’s wicked mouth, begging him to stop.

Somehow, the mandalorian’s evil drug was active inside her again, heat building until she cried; but the Sith’s grip on her was absolute, keeping her still no matter how she thrashed. Whimpering, she struggled to remember for a moment, unable to summon words, before giving up and shouting at him, fear raging through her.

_ Stop, please! _

Feeling his attention shift, she shoved the memory of being injected at him, apology and fear spilling through her even as she shuddered through another orgasm. She’s surprised by the response she gets, and has to gasp for breath when Larec pulls away from her, pressing soft kisses to her shaking thighs. Her wrists and throat are released, the Sith gently cradling her to his chest as she begins shivering, closing her eyes as her head is tucked under his chin.

There’s a hardness pressing against her side that she struggles to ignore, instead flooding the bond with remorse and apology and embarrassed shame. Larec rumbles softly before he speaks, and she winced away a little, expecting irritation or anger at telling him no again.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, little one,” he said instead, voice soft as one hand curled around the back of her neck. “It’s simply one way to ease that sort of drug from your body. I didn’t realize it would be so distressing for you.”

Tears slip down her cheeks, but she still shakes her head where it rests against his neck. Her throat is so tight that she knows her voice would be an inaudible squeak, so she sends to him instead, tamping her fear back down as much as possible.

_ I’m sorry, _ she whispered, eyes shut. _ I’m sorry, please don’t be angry. _

Shushing her again, Larec picks her up from the bench and carries her to stand under the steaming water, pressing occasional small kisses to her face and hair as she calmed in his arms.

Sharya knows that he manipulated her, this time; she relaxed far quicker than she should have, her renewed panic about the drug in her blood calming far too quickly, until the Sith is able to lean her against the wall so he could finish cleaning the grime from her feet and legs. Or maybe he was holding her up with a subtle force grip. Either way, she blinks and the fragrant shampoo he just started to finger comb into her hair is being washed out, white suds swirling down the drains sunk into the black stone floor.

She thinks there was conditioner, because her hair feels far too silky to have gone without, but she doesn’t remember if it had actually happened. Before she knows it, the steaming water is being shut off, and she’s yawning, leaning against Larec with no care for his state of undress. He helps her down from the raised shower stall, a lovely plush towel suddenly wrapping around her and gently rubbing the water from her skin as she sways in place, now definitely only held up by master’s force grip on her.

Gasping at the touch of cloth on her still sensitive lips, Sharya glanced down into golden eyes; his gaze was gentle, and the hardness that had pressed against her was now hidden beneath a towel knotted around his hips, his touch on her naked flesh delicate as he ran the towel down her legs. Mind fuzzing, she curls into master when he stands, blinking slowly as fingers tuck hair behind her ears and lips press against her forehead.

A low chuckle gets her attention before she can drift further into sleep, and she lifts her head a little. Master gives her a chaste kiss and nudges her towards the closed door. “There should be tea outside by now, little Jedi. Go on, I’ll be out shortly.”

Tea?

Still more asleep than awake, Sharya turns to the door, almost bumping into the jamb as she stumbled through into the other room. Fighting the urge to yawn again, she glances up to see a massive bed against the near wall, and bookshelves crowding two of the four walls. An actual marble fireplace is opposite the bed, with leather armchairs bracketing one side and a leather sofa on the other; above the fireplace is a display of weaponry; lightsaber hilts predominate the display, but there were also bladed weapons arranged among them. 

Between the chairs and sofa is a heavy, antique coffee table, and she’s surprised to see a tray sitting on one corner, a tea kettle still steaming behind three upside-down mugs. She blinks, counting the mugs again, and opens her mouth to ask Larec about it as she senses him enter the room. Before she can get the words out, however, booted feet swing down from the couch arm, and purple hair rises into her view. 

Choking on a gasp, Sharya jerks back, hands clenching on the towel wrapped around her. Panic is making her heart pound, and she struggles against a whimper when she feels Larec’s hand on her shoulder. 

Naasade’s words are running through her mind, and she gasps again. Was he tired of her already? Had she done something wrong, why was Naasade here? He said Naasade wouldn’t look at her, but grey eyes are slipping down her bare legs, and she steps back until she hits Larec in the chest, vividly feeling the collar around her throat again.

Heavy warmth is draped around her shoulders, and she jumps at the sensation, finally looking up at the Sith with fear wide eyes as he gently steers her further into the room. One hand curls around the back of her neck, the touch almost enough to banish the phantom collar.

Voice frozen in her throat, she can’t argue when she’s nudged into an armchair, but she can still send her panic to him, and she does, flooding the bond with her fear and terror of Naasade, thoughts running in circles that she can’t quiet. 

_ Please don’t let her touch me, please, Larec, Master, don’t let her take me, I don’t want to be her slave, I’ll be good, I swear I’ll be good, please— _

Eyes scrunching closed, Sharya curls into the chair, hiding under the robe as Larec tucked it around her. Naasade is chuckling softly at her terror, and she strangles on a whine. A light touch on her shoulder makes her flinch, but the rush of protective warmth from Larec eases her back from a full on panic attack, just enough that she could focus on the words being spoken above her, and not get lost in her head.

“I can see that you invited yourself in,” Larec was saying dryly, one eyebrow rising at the third mug. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks, I already have,” Naasade purrs, settling back onto the couch with a heated smirk. “And how is the pretty Jedi?”

Heart skipping a beat at that, Sharya has to lick her lips before speaking.

“Traumatized,” she forces out, voice shaking only slightly as her fingers tighten on the fabric of the robe. “No thanks to you.”

Smirk widening to a pleased grin, and grey eyes going half-lidded, the mandalorian laughed softly at the acid in her tone. “The pleasure was all mine, pretty Jedi.”

“Naasade.” Larec’s voice is a soft rumble of warning. “Stop needling her.”

Like a switch had been thrown, the air of predatory hunger snaps off, the woman slouching into the couch. “Spoilsport,” she sniffed, before digging into a pocket and pulling out a hip flask.

Bewildered by the abrupt change, Sharya can only blink as Naasade proceeds to pour three mugs of tea. A generous splash from the hip flask goes into the mug she cradled to her chest.

“How the hell you manage to drink this sober, I’ll never understand,” she grumbled after taking a sip, face a grimace. More amber liquid goes into the mug before she leans back, flask tucked carefully in a pocket and one arm draped across the back of the couch.

A puzzled glance at Larec only serves to confuse her further; still only wearing a towel knotted low around his hips, he’s settling into the other armchair, absently grabbing the two remaining mugs as he sits. One he keeps for himself, while the other is handed to Sharya; a cautious, reflexive sip of her own makes her mouth twist, and she almost wants to agree with the mandalorian. The tea is a dark, bitter black, with a hint of citrus that does nothing to keep her tongue from curling.

Sighing as if he’s had this conversation many times before, Larec rolls his eyes. 

“It’s an acquired taste, you barbarian.” Golden eyes flick to Sharya as she discreetly tries to set the mug back on the coffee table. “There is sweetener if you need it, Sharya.”

Flushing at getting caught out, she silently hands her tea back over, only accepting it back after two heaping spoons of white sugar have been stirred in. The tea was still bitter, but it didn’t curl her tongue, and she resolved quietly to never acquire a taste for this blend.

“You never offered _ me _ any sugar,” Naasade said, carefully watching the exchange over the lip of her spiked tea.

“You never asked,” Larec replied blandly, smirking. “Besides, you prefer that flask of yours to any sweetener, anyway.”

“Bah. Details, details,” Naasade huffed, waving one hand dismissively at the Sith.

For Sharya, the evening is quickly taking on a surreal, dreamlike quality; in just under eight—possibly? She still hadn’t seen a chrono—hours, she has been captured, tortured, humiliated and broken with casual cruelty by these two. Now here she was, a Jedi (_ are you still a Jedi _, a deep part of her wonders, and she doesn’t know the answer) having tea with a mostly naked Sith Lord, and a Republican commando turned Mandalorian.

_ Maybe this entire day has been a nightmare. It’s certainly lasted long enough to be one, _ she thinks, still feeling the emotional whiplash of going from terrified panic to utter confusion in a matter of seconds. Her hands are trembling on the mug, but her heart is starting to slow, and the familiar warmth of (godsawful) tea and ceramic is soothing her faster than she had expected. _ Maybe when I wake up, it’ll be nothing but a terrible dream. _

Blinking, Sharya ducks her head to scrub her eyes dry behind the flimsy shield of her mug. She thought she should have lost the ability to cry from how much of it she had done already, but she can’t seem to stop. 

Larec and Naasade have gone on to insulting each other’s taste in alcohol when Sharya finally gives up on the tea. She’s managed to choke down just over half of it, but the more she drank, the worse the bitter taste got; she ends up cradling the mug in her hands, enjoying the heat and smell, if not the taste.

Very deliberately not thinking, she stares blankly at the bitter tea in her mug; she’s beginning to ache, now that she’s sitting down and not moving, or restrained, or being touched. She doesn’t want to think about how long she was kept in the containment field, or how many times she was touched by strange, unwanted hands today. Sharya also doesn’t want to think about how the Sith’s tongue had felt between her legs, or how he had comforted her through her panic attack in the lift, or the warmth in his voice when he called her—

“-little Jedi?”

Jerking awake, Sharya looks up from the tea mug, not sure when her absentminded gaze had changed to half-awake nodding. Larec is kneeling next to her armchair, a hand on her knee, and his golden eyes are concerned as he looks at her. She blinks at him, and started to apologize for drifting off, but she’s blindsided by a huge yawn as soon as she opens her mouth.

The Sith seemed to sigh, and the warmth leaves her hands before he stands; a moment later, he bends down and slips the robe off her shoulders, freeing her enough that he could slide his arms beneath her knees and lower back. Lifting her as easily as he had in the hall, she sleepily curls into him as he carried her to the bed, where the blankets were already pulled back. 

She’s gently deposited on the edge of the bed, and the towel wrapped around her tugged off. Sharya is barely awake, and doesn’t care that she can see Naasade standing next to the couch, arms crossed over her chest and a grin on her face. 

What she does care about are the hands guiding her down and then pulling the covers up to her shoulders. Blinking slowly, feeling herself relax into a boneless huddle of limbs, she manages to look Larec dead in the eye. It takes her a minute, but she finally feels confident enough to say it.

“That tea is disgusting and your taste is terrible,” she manages to say clearly, with all the seriousness of small children and the very drunk.

Larec’s startled laughter follows her down into darkness, amusement and fondness echoing into her from the bond.

Still chuckling, Larec turned away from the bed and his drugged apprentice to face Naasade, walking on silent feet back to his abandoned armchair.

“She called the tea disgusting, and insulted my taste,” he elaborated when he noticed Naasade’s questioning look.

Snickering, the mandalorian shook her head, leaning against the arm of the couch. “I told you she was going to be a handful,” she said cheerfully. “She bites too, did you notice?”

“I do seem to recall being told that before,” he said dryly, glancing pointedly at the edge of his palm where Sharya’s teeth had almost caught him.

A gesture, and the robe puddled in the other armchair shakes itself out before draping across the back of the chair. Hidden under the robe was the silver hilt of Sharya’s lightsaber, and he summoned it to his hand as he sat back down, running curious fingers along the glyphs carved into the metal.

The grip was too small for his hands, the shape clean with elegant lines that lent the weapon a sense of delicacy. Carved above and below the grip were flowing glyphs for strength, speed and clarity in the force, and the crystals inside hummed warningly at him when Larec poked at them with the force.

All in all, it was a neatly put together little weapon, exactly as he would have expected from the padawan of the combat master.

A hand curling into Larec’s hair draws his attention from the lightsaber, and he raised an eyebrow at Naasade, staring up at her through slitted eyes.

“Can I help you,” he purred when her grip tightened, slowly pulling his head back. 

Tossing the hilt back into the other chair, he rested his hands on the mandalorian’s hips, dragging her close enough that he could nuzzle at the edge of her shirt, nose pressing against soft skin.

“Well, I am currently in need of a hand,” she growled softly, gasping when Larec bit viciously on the curve of her hip. Sighing, she wrapped strands of still damp hair around her fist. “You did pull me away from my toys before I was finished playing.”

“Hmm. I suppose I _ do _ owe you for that,” he said musingly. One finger twitched, and Naasade gasped again at the touch of the force around her throat, but her fingers remained coiled in his hair. “Later, however,” he clarified, smirking as he released her hips.

Snarling out something that sounded like “godsdamned teasing fucker,” Naasade used her grip on his hair to yank him into a kiss that was as much a battle as a promise; teeth and lips and tongues clashing together, each trying to get the other to submit. The mandalorian only drew back when Larec’s force grip grew too tight to breathe, and even then she still left raw, stinging scratches on his shoulders as payback.

One last hard nip at his bottom lip, and Naasade pulled away with an annoyed huff, grey eyes snapping with repressed temper as she threw herself onto the couch. Chuckling darkly, he settled back, tea mug in hand as he lazily adjusted himself. Eyes following his every move, Naasade growled again.

“Now what, my lord?” She hissed, hip flask coming out of her pocket for a sip as she utterly ignored the mug in front of her.

Briefly checking on Sharya’s sleeping mind, Larec took a moment to nudge her deeper into unconsciousness; the sedative apparently had been just enough to knock the Jedi out, but whatever stimulant Naasade had used on her was already trying to rouse her, her body metabolizing the sedative far faster than it should have.

“Now you tell me what stimulant you used so I can finish clearing it from her system,” he said, eyeing her sternly over the lip of his reclaimed tea mug, good mood darkening slightly. “She’s already burning through the sedative I gave her, and it won’t be long before she needs another dose.”

Temper easing from her eyes, Naasade chuckled. “You can thank your mistress for that one, Larec; it’s her Midnight Hex. Don’t worry, I didn’t give pretty Sharya too much.”

Pausing with his mug halfway to his lips, Larec stared at the mandalorian for a moment before sighing, free hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose as his mug drifted back to the coffee table.

“_ Any _ dose of Midnight Hex is too much if given to a Jedi,” he finally gritted out. “Morgana created it to break Jedi before she ever introduced it as a party drug.”

Great. This just increased Sharya’s recovery time even more, and that’s if she decided to stay sedated long enough for Midnight Hex to run its course.

Part stimulant, part aphrodisiac, and part toxin, Midnight Hex was one of Morgana’s more interesting alchemical creations; the stimulant set the nervous system into overdrive, burning through energy like a star going nova to release an obscene amount of feel-good neurotransmitters. That overload of chemicals would trigger the aphrodisiac, increasing sensitivity to every erogenous zone tenfold until the stimulant wore off, usually some ten to twelve hours after injection.

The toxin only came into play if the person taking it could channel the force; for dark siders, it was little more than an irritant that would eventually wear off, but for light siders, Midnight Hex was far more deadly. Unless they could channel the dark side, the toxin would force the brain to churn out neurotransmitters until exhaustion hit, turning off the drug’s built-in time limit and releasing Midnight Hex to run rampant in the person’s system. As a bonus, not even the dark side could extract the drug once the toxin was triggered; only the passage of time could flush it from someone’s system, although sedation was the easiest way to get through that time.

The only thing keeping Sharya from being harmed by the toxin now was his bond with her, giving her just enough of a connection to the dark side that the toxin was still dormant, even though the stimulant and aphrodisiac were working together to take out the sedative. Glaring at the mandalorian, he stood, beginning to feel the burn at the back of his eyes that heralded the dark side’s rise. 

“Get over there, now.”

Snorting, Naasade tipped her flask back. “And do what, sing your new pet a lullaby?”

Ice formed on the metal of the flask, and the mandalorian swore at him again, dropping the frozen flask and rubbing at cold reddened fingertips. 

“You can be the most dramatic bitch, I swear,” Naasade grumbled under her breath, one hand snagging a small duffel bag from under the coffee table as she stood.

Shooting her a cold smirk, Larec turned back to the bed and Sharya.

The bed shifting wakes her up, even though she can’t seem to pry her eyes open; it’s like her eyelids are weighed down, and she can’t bring herself to be concerned about it just yet. Strong arms are slipping under her, curling her against a firm chest, and Sharya sighs a little, tucking her head comfortably against master as he gently stroked hair back from her face.

She’s faintly aware that words are being whispered to her, soothing nonsense as smaller hands touch her shoulders, tracing a path of dull agony down her spine. Shuddering, she sleepily tries to pull away, only to stop; she’s being kissed as something small and cold is pressed against her skin, a sharp pinch followed by icy relief causing a gasp to leave her mouth. The person kissing her—_ master?— _takes advantage of her gasp, and slips their tongue into her mouth, distracting her from what the other hands were doing to her.

Two more sharp pinches along her spine numb the rest of her back, before she’s turned in Larec’s arms, her back now against his chest as her head tilts to rest on his shoulder. Those small hands are curled around her right wrist now, holding her still as another small cold thing is pressed to her skin. Words are said over her again, a vaguely familiar voice not quite enough to catch her attention over the flare of pain on the outside of her left wrist before small-cold touches her, another sharp pinch quickly going numb.

“...splint would be useless, it’s just cracked….”

“We both know what broken bone feels like, put it on anyway.”

“Hey, if you want to be beaten to death with a splint when she wakes up next, go right ahead.”

“Your confidence in my abilities is, as always, awe-inspiring.”

At the utterly dry delivery of that last retort, Sharya giggles softly, still too asleep to even think about not giggling; her now numb arm is being placed in a stiff, hard thing, gentle fingers tugging until the thing is tight on her. 

“Ooh? Is someone awake?” A hand cups her jaw, tilting her head down so lips can press against hers in a long, drawn-out kiss, one that makes Sharya moan softly.

The kiss stops at the rumbling growl behind her, the bond in her head suddenly lighting up with protective violence as she’s cradled to master’s chest, the fingers cupping her jaw slipping away. Confused, Sharya pokes dazedly at the bond, eyes opening to thin slits.

It had felt good, why did he make the kiss stop?

There’s a huff of laughter from in front of her, but her eyes aren’t focusing, and her gaze slides off to the side if she stopped concentrating.

_ Because it wasn’t me kissing you, my Jedi. _ A kiss is pressed to her temple, and her eyes close again as the itchy bond warms, settling even more firmly in place. _ There is one last thing we have to do and then you can go back to sleep. _

Oh. Okay. 

She’s quiet for the next touch of small-cold, not minding that it was placed at the base of her neck. She didn’t care for how exposed it left her neck feeling though, like her hair was still up in its habitual braid.

Still a little confused (if it wasn’t Master, then who had been kissing her?), Sharya curled back into the mattress when the arms around her eased her down, hands tugging the blankets back up around her shoulders as she drifted off again, not even feeling the bed shift as she was left alone in the room, lulled back to sleep by the soft crackle of the fireplace.

——

Idly stroking herself as she lay back on Larec’s desk, Naasade arched with a pleased sigh, hands trailing up from her bruised hips to lazily knead at her breasts. The Sith had sprawled out on his desk chair, his spent cock hanging between his thighs as he sipped at some terribly overpriced whiskey, smug as the loth cat that got both cream and canary. 

Feeling pretty smug herself, she turned onto her side to face him, not caring about the combined mess that was still dribbling down her thighs. Apparently she had made the correct decision in kissing his apprentice earlier, even though she would be walking funny tomorrow. Ah well. Just one of the few drawbacks in having a rabid fuck with a riled-up Sith. Smirking, she fingered the purpling bite mark between her breasts, still eyeing Larec appreciatively.

For someone almost two decades her senior, he was still firm with dense muscle, the silver in his hair only enhancing the gold of his eyes. The taut, lightly tanned skin across his body was almost as damaged as hers, scratches and fingerprints on his shoulders and back, her teeth imprinted on his neck and upper chest. She would need to go after the medpack in her kit if she wanted to lose the love marks Larec had left on her, but he would be healed as soon as he touched the force, and she was almost jealous of that.

“Mmm, I don’t remember you being this wild before,” she purred, reaching out to snag the whiskey from his hand. “She is a bit better than her sister, isn’t she?”

Golden eyes flick lazily to her, watching as she steals half the liquor in his glass. It was somewhat true; Larec’s last apprentice had lost her sass long before the pretty Jedi had.

“She is certainly more vocal,” Larec murmured, resting his head on his fist. “Once she forgets to be terrified all the time, she’ll be magnificent.”

Laughing at that, Naasade choked for a second, whiskey burning her sinuses as she cackled. “Were you watching the same fight? The brat could barely stand up after one punch to the head!”

“One punch to the head after being knocked unconscious, both inner ears damaged, as well as being directly on top of an exploding sonic mine, and she still knocked your sword from your hand.” Stealing back his glass, the Sith smirked at her. “Yes, I was.”

“When we get back to Dromund Kaas,” he began after a moment, and Naasade perked up a little. They had been on this miserable mudball long enough that she was bored, and Dromund Kaas was the second closest thing she had to a home any more. “I want to see how well she does against you. With and without her saber. Unless dear old Granuille has changed, Sharya should be more than capable of taking you on.”

“Mm, that just made me shiver,” she laughed softly, eyes narrowing in pleasure at the challenge. “You’re so kind, letting me play with your apprentice like this. If I win, do I get some private playtime with her?”

Tilting his head, Larec stared at her consideringly for a moment. “That depends entirely on Sharya. She didn’t seem to mind your touch just now, but she’s also terrified you are going to enslave her.”

“Oh, that.” Flopping back down, she smirked up at the ceiling. “That’s just a little inside joke; you know how it goes, you get to talking, place a collar on them and suddenly it’s sexy interrogation instead of painful interrogation.”

Weight slowly began to settle over her, pinning her down to the desk. Still smirking, her eyes dropped closed. So, they were going to play again? Good, she wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

“Need I remind you what would happen, should you try to do something that foolish?” Larec’s voice is silken danger as he stands to lean over her, both hands coming down to rest on either side of her head.

Eyes slitting open, Naasade directs her smirk at the Sith, tilting her head back when a hand moves to wrap lightly around her throat. “Considering I’ve yet to enslave anyone, yes, I believe I do need a reminder.” 

“If you ever even think,” he hissed, grip tightening and golden eyes glowing as he stared down at her. “About putting a slave collar on my apprentice…”

Her smirk disappearing into an open-mouthed gasp, Naasade feels her back try to arch; Larec was reaching into her body, burning energy flooding her veins as he took control of her arousal, brutally ratcheting it to the thin edge between pleasure and agony. The weight pinning her down is almost enough to smother her, the hand around her neck bruisingly tight, and she groans.

“I will utterly destroy you, down to the very last atom,” he breathed into her face, just as he triggered her release. 

Luckily, the force was still pinning her down, or she would have thrashed right off his desk; she keeps from screaming in pleasure only by the mouth crashing into hers, devouring the sounds escaping her as her body arched, fighting the grip holding her. Pulling back once she calms down, panting for air, the Sith smirks at her.

“Insatiable whore,” he said, settling back into his chair like he had never moved, almost empty glass back in his hand.

“Dirty old pervert,” she managed to growl out, feeling a delicious lassitude sink into her from the brutally rushed orgasm. Ahh, she would sleep good tonight. “Well, I’m definitely not doing anything tomorrow. Be a dear and tell the boss for me, would you?”

Chuckling, Larec nodded, saluting her with the glass. “Get off my desk and go to bed, Naasade.”

Lazily, she dragged herself to her feet and began gathering her scattered clothing from where it had gotten thrown, accepting her boots from an invisible hand and shoving her bare feet into them after retrieving her trousers from under the desk. Her shirt had found its way onto the small mantle over the fireplace, and she tugged it on, bra and socks in her hand as she turned back to Larec, who hadn’t moved.

“When are we heading back, anyway,” she asked, fighting off a yawn. “Or are you wanting to stay here longer for your apprentice to get used to you?”

“We’ll be leaving soon enough,” Larec responded, setting his now empty glass down with a click. “Sharya has to trust me more before we can leave, but that won’t take too long. Feel free to continue playing the bad mandalorian, if you wish. It’ll speed up the process.”

She laughs at that, and then heads for the door, free hand waving as it shuts behind her. 

Deciding to stay in his study a while longer, Larec leans back after pouring another finger or two of well-aged whiskey, crossing his feet on the antique desk and thinking idly on his new apprentice.

Her memories showed that she was a fierce fighter, and had done their master proud; being knighted at eighteen was quite a feat indeed, especially after taking down a drug and slavery ring almost unassisted. Still, Sharya needed to unlearn the Jedi ways of avoiding emotion and attachment to come fully into her own; the wells of emotion that had drawn his attention from the edge of the system were far too deep for her to remain a Jedi for too much longer.

Either way, soon his Jedi would accept her place, and become a truly wonderful Sith.

——

When Larec woke the next morning, Sharya was still deeply asleep, faint impressions of dreams leaking through the bond. Her body was finally metabolizing normally, the sedative now enough to keep her unconscious as she finished healing.

His Jedi had all but burrowed under the covers as she slept, clutching one pillow to her chest. Carefully moving the blankets from where she had curled into them, he could see that the purple and black bruises on her back have faded to hints of green and yellow. The rectangular bruising over her kidneys have all but disappeared, and her sleeping mind stays calm when he brushes his fingers over her skin, testing for tenderness.

She does, however, release the pillow and clutch onto him as soon as he eases Sharya onto her side, sleep strong fingers holding him by the hip so she can bury her face in his stomach, warm breath tickling his skin. When gentle prying does nothing but make her tighten her grip, brow crinkling in a faint frown, Larec has to reach into her mind, dropping her into a deeper sleep just to get free.

Amused—Lira hadn’t been this clingy so quickly—Larec pets Sharya’s hair before leaning down to kiss her pink lips, parted in sleep. The scrape across her cheekbone has healed just as nicely as her other injuries, and he’s able to pull the splint off of her left arm with no problem, revealing a faint hint of finger-shaped bruises around her wrists, but no cracked bones.

Just before slipping from the bed, he replaces the lightsaber hilt he had removed from under her pillow; Sharya hadn’t noticed him taking it when he came to bed, and Larec intended to keep it that way, although he was rather curious about when she had been awake enough to find it. 

The sooner she felt safe around him, the better, as far as he was concerned, and if that meant he had to give her an illusion of control, he was fine with that. Letting Sharya sleep with her lightsaber close was simple enough, provided she didn’t try to stab him on instinct whenever he tried to come to bed. It might not be a bad idea to keep her on a low dose of sedative, as well, at least to keep her sleeping through the night, now that he thought about it.

Dressing silently, Larec let the door close behind himself, taking his comlink and datapad with him as he leaves. Already, his mind is busy, rearranging his schedule for the foreseeable future; once Sharya fully accepted her new place as his apprentice, she would need further training, as well as an eventual introduction to the Dark Council. They liked to keep an eye on newly turned Jedi, and he had developed a habit of providing them with said newly turned Jedi.

Removing himself from Dromund Kaas might have to wait a while longer as well; the experiments he had set up earlier this week in the lower levels of the temple could theoretically be put on hold for some small amount of time with no ill effects, but only for so long. He would have to come back every few weeks to make sure they were still running smoothly, but the minions in his labs should be capable of maintaining the experiments with little oversight, if absolutely needed.

Stopping at the kitchen long enough to get a mug of actually decent tea—not the stuff he delighted in torturing Naasade with—he settled himself in his study. The combined mess from himself and Naasade’s tryst, left on top of his desk from last night, has been cleaned up by droids, but the study still has a faint musk to it. A lit stick of incense covers that, and then he sighs, unable to put it off any longer.

“Another glorious morning, ruined by paperwork,” he muttered, taking a sip as the terminal built into the otherwise antique desk boots up.

A full two hours before he expects it, a mental yelp of surprise pulls him away from his study to find that a naked Sharya has found her way to the floor at the side of the bed, blinking indignantly at the blankets tangled around her.

Absently snagging the robe still draped over an armchair, Larec goes to kneel next to the Jedi, helping her disentangle herself from the sheets, hiding his amusement behind a light shield. Sharya very clearly isn’t quite awake, despite the violet eyes staring blearily at him as he gently unwrapped her legs. 

..._ drugged me? _

“Use your words, Sharya,” he said, smiling at her as he draped the robe over her bare shoulders. “And why are you on the floor?”

One of her hands absently rises to clutch at the fabric, but her head is already drooping towards him, her mind fuzzing back over with sleep.

_ No. Have ta pee, _ she grumbles, eyes closing as her head hits him squarely in the sternum. _ Bed moved. You drugged me. _

She can feel his chest move as he chuckles softly, and she wants to swat at him to make him stop moving, because it’s not just the bed moving, it’s the floor, too, and Sharya shoves her head harder into master’s chest, feeling childish, and yet, not able to care overly much. 

Stupid Sith, drugging her. She would have slept fine. Probably.

She does forgive him a little when he helps her stand, and stumble her way into the ‘fresher, but he never answered her accusation beyond an amused smirk, and she’s already forgotten by the time she falls back into bed. There’s a sharp pinch on her upper arm, but Sharya is fast asleep before she can protest.

With Sharya sleeping soundly once again, Larec returned to his desk, one eyebrow rising as he noticed a new report pop up in the corner of the terminal. Happily ignoring the review of the month’s budget, he scanned through the contents of the report from the slicers assigned to Sharya’s craft; his clever apprentice had dumped the navicomp database before leaving the ship, but her encryptions on the communications had finally been broken, revealing something worrisome.

The Jedi council was definitely on their toes, this time; three messages had been received just this morning, a bare handful of hours after Sharya had finally broken under his hand; one standard message requesting a mission update, one directly from the council, and a third from Granuille Maille, tension and worry threaded through the brief message. 

“_ Sharya, dearest, _

_ Please respond when you receive this, I need to know you’re alright. I felt it snap, but I know you’re strong enough to survive this, to survive him. _

_ Be brave, my padawan. We will find you.” _

Hmm. Maybe the old bitch has changed.

Then he reads through the message from the council, and a snarl curled his lips.

_ “Knight Moonchaser, _

_ We have been reliably informed that you have been under extreme duress. If we do not receive a verifiable sitrep of your well being within 48 hours, an extraction team will be deployed to your location. _

_ May the force be with you.” _

At the most, he had those forty-eight hours before the extraction team left Ossus; but knowing the Council, they wouldn’t give the actual timeline for the extraction, in case the ship was captured as well. Quickly doing the math, Larec cursed. He had, at best, less than a five day to get Sharya to trust him enough that he could take her off-planet without worrying about her running from him. At worst, the team was already assembled and getting packed into the fastest ship the order had.

_ And if Granya is involved, I might have even less time. Meddling old twi’lek. _

With the latest dose of sedative in her system, Sharya would sleep for another ten hours, easily, which in theory should give him more than enough time to have his ship refueled and ready to leave, but first, he needed to take care of the shuttle.

——

_ So much for my day off, _ Naasade thought grumpily, barely able to keep one foot from tapping against the counter she was sitting on. 

One by one, she was going through the rooms of the tiny ship, grabbing anything that was obviously important to Larec’s apprentice. She was also currently digging through the cabinets and taking a savage delight in the crunching of broken dish ware as she threw it into the corner she’d privately designated as the trash heap. Another plain glazed dish went sailing through the air, landing with a satisfactory crash as it landed, narrowly missing a harried engineer as he dodged through to the cockpit.

Around her, minions were stripping the pretty Jedi’s shuttle of everything useful, and rigging the engines to remotely detonate. Beside her was a bag of personal items that Sharya had left in the ship, occasionally receiving another small bit of personality as Naasade deemed it worthy of saving. The collection so far was definitely eclectic; small bits of crystal had littered the galley shelves, held in place by pieces of sticky putty, while brilliantly colored feathers were artfully hung from the ceiling with thin wire in the corners of the tiny rooms. Soft, warm blankets and pillows were scattered across the small ship, teetering in precarious stacks, and bringing to mind a cat’s nest.

A truly hideous, well-used tea mug shaped like a nerf made its way into the bag, although she was tempted to leave the ugly thing as evidence. But the permanent tea stains on the inside showed it was well loved, and Larec might be pissed if she “accidentally” left something so obviously precious. Carefully wrapping it in the one blanket she took from the bed, Naasade shoved the mug into the middle of the bag, on top of the two paper books and other small knick-knacks that she had found in the cockpit.

The small hand tools and half-assembled blaster, clothes, and other detritus of an unsupervised young adult would have to stay, to add to the lie of a catastrophic engine failure, but she still added the more impressive specimens of crystal she saw to the bag as she stood and made her way back to the tiny quarters for one last look. 

Snagging a wooden-handled hairbrush from under the bed and smirking at the long hair embedded in the bristles, Naasade cast one last critical eye over the room; it had been thoroughly ransacked, but she still spied a small holocron tucked into a corner of the bunk, between the wall and the mattress. Curious, she activates it to see an image of a much younger Sharya and Lira, short, matching padawan braids proudly displayed as they hugged each other. An elderly, yellow-skinned twi’lek with green eyes was standing behind them, grinning at the camera, one hand ruffling Sharya’s hair and the other resting on Lira’s shoulder. 

Swiping through the holos, she finds more pictures of the twi’lek, Sharya, and Lira, before finally coming across a holo of a young human woman holding two squirming toddlers and beaming. 

Ah. This would _ definitely _cause an upset if it was left to be destroyed. Tucking it securely into her pocket, Naasade leaves the shuttle; soon, all that remained of Sharya’s life as a Jedi would fit into the small duffel in her hand.

——

She had been awake for a while, but still she didn’t quite understand what she was looking at, and so she doesn’t move from the position she had awoken in, staring blankly at the covered tray on the nightstand next to her.

It looked like it held food, and it smelled like it held food, but there was an upside down tea mug sitting next to a tiny teapot on the tray, and a bowl of white powder next to it. The tea didn’t smell like the nasty bitter stuff Sharya could last remember drinking, but she’s not willing to chance it just yet, while the smell of the food turned her stomach, mixing unpleasantly with the strong chemical taste on the back of her tongue.

At least she didn’t hurt like she did when she had been awake last. 

She thinks.

The room beyond the bed is shadowy, lit only by a dim lamp and a crackling fireplace. There’s an itchy sensation in her head, like she’s forgotten something, and she has a vague suspicion that the thing she’s forgotten is important, but her mind is almost unbearably fuzzy, and so she continued to stare at the tray, drifting somewhere between waking and sleep.

It’s only when her bladder starts complaining—loudly—that she tries to move, slowly pulling herself upright and making sure that she could stay sitting before letting her feet drop to the floor. She stays perched on the edge of the bed for some time, waiting for the gentle rocking of the floor to calm, and keeping her eyes closed. 

Why did the room keep moving, and why did it feel like she was getting used to waking up this way?

She has to cling to the headboard when she stands, but the wave of dizziness quickly passes, and when one hand lands on something soft, she wraps it around herself without looking at it, carefully making her way to the open door across from the bed. 

Lights come up as soon as she steps foot onto warm, slick tile, and she stops again, eyes flinching closed against the light. This is familiar, too, and her throat goes tight, just enough that she has to feel to make sure nothing is wrapped around her neck. The tile under her feet is black, threaded with pink and white, and she doesn’t look up from it until she’s standing back at the sink.

Her eyes automatically shy away from the mirror as she washes her hands, but she finds herself staring at the thickly glazed glass doors of the shower stall, wanting to be clean in the worst way.

Not reaching for the force—dark-hungry-pain, why does the force _ hurt _ , where was she? _ Don’t think about it. _—she drapes the robe over a hook next to the door on her way to the shower, where she pokes at the knobs until the water coming from the shower heads is steaming hot, making her sigh as it hit her skin, heat sinking into muscles that were slowly trying to knot up.

Unfortunately, the hot water does nothing to help clear her head, and she finds herself leaning against a rough stripe of stone, one arm cradling her forehead as water pounded on her back. Absently raising a hand to push dripping hair out of her face, she freezes. 

She doesn’t remember taking her hair out of its braid.

Eyes closing, and breathing deeply through her nose, she runs fingers from the top of her scalp down, chest tightening when the strands stop just above her shoulders. She has to do it again, and this time she finds hair that hits her collar bone, but nothing that drops further than that, no matter how desperately her fingers search.

Choking on a sob, Sharya slowly drops to the floor, arms curling around herself as she reaches out for her master.

But the mind at the other end of her training bond is unfamiliar, darkness threaded through the presence and seeping deeply into her, the shields around her just as darkened. 

Frantically pulling away before they could notice, she searches the corners of her mind, wanting Granya, needing her master’s voice to help calm her down and let her know that this is a nightmare, that she’s not really bonded to a Sith, that her hair hasn’t been cut by brutal, uncaring hands, that she hasn’t lost every connection she had to the Jedi, to her mother.

Because it was her mother’s hands that had last cut her hair, brushed the tangles from the curling strands before it grew too long and heavy to curl, her mother’s hands that had soothed her to sleep after childish nightmares woke her, her mother’s blood-stained hands brushing hair back as she shoved Lira and Sharya into the tiny escape pod to save them, telling them lies about how it would be okay, she would find them again—

Long after scalding water has stopped pounding on her back, Sharya remains huddled into the corner of the shower, staring blankly at wet stone. Her mind is moving sluggishly, and all she can feel is the press of darkness, so she tries hard not to think. If she doesn’t think, she doesn’t have to feel, and if she doesn’t feel anything, then she won’t keep crying.

A door hisses open, but she ignores it, closing her eyes and pressing harder into the corner, hiding her tear-streaked face behind crossed arms as footsteps echoed in the room. 

Gentle fingers touch her, resting on her shoulder until she looks up, into golden eyes; Larec’s gaze is carefully guarded, but the bond is warm where it coils in her mind, and she curls into him with a soft sob, accepting the silent comfort he offered and clutching at his clothes with wet, shaking hands.

“I… I can’t go back,” she whimpered out sometime later from where she was cradled in his lap. They haven’t moved from the shower stall, although he had summoned a towel to soften the hard rock of the corner she had curled into, not minding the water that had soaked his clothing as she wept. “They won’t… they won’t let me come home… will they?”

Raising her head a little, she glances up at Larec, more tears slipping from her eyes when he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, little one,” he said at last, softly, one hand rubbing soothingly along her bowed spine. “The Council doesn’t care how someone falls; once done, it cannot be undone, in their eyes.” 

“And... and master, she…” sniffling, unable to continue, Sharya buries her face in the Sith’s chest.

“Granuille won’t be able to convince them, either,” he replied, following the thread of the question in her mind. “She can’t do anything to help, no matter how much she may have once cared for us.”

“Then. What do I do,” she asked in a small voice, moving so her words weren’t muffled by fabric. 

Fingers comb through her wet hair, gently untangling it for a moment before curling around the back of her neck, pulling her head back to rest against his shoulder. 

“That is up to you, Sharya.” 

Shuddering at the thought of having to make a choice, she ducks down, curling into a tight ball in Larec’s lap, and crying hopelessly again. 

_ ~fin _

  
  



	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gods, the formatting in the first three chapters. I'm sorry, and also a bit lazy, not going to fix it until A, I finish this beast or B, I get tired of looking at it.
> 
> BTW, Many many thanks to everyone who's read this so far, and even more thanks to my beta readers who I utterly forgot to acknowledge in the first posting. There is no porn in this part.

Jedi Combat Master and twi’lek Granuille Maille stared deeply into her mug of kaff and sighed, idly stirring the cooling liquid with a spoon and the force.

All night, her rest had been disrupted by uneasy dreams, and a foreboding sense of danger that wouldn’t be dismissed. Finally, around fourth hour, she had given up on sleep as a lost cause and gotten up to drink some kaff before her morning meditation.

Except she never made it out of her kitchen. Sixth hour wasn’t far off now, and she was still sitting on the counter next to the kaff pot, getting lost in the patterns formed by the swirling kaff. For about the tenth time this morning, her mind wandered to her padawan, wondering how long this latest mission would be. 

Sharya Moonchaser had been a joy to teach and raise, bright and quick and intelligent from the first day they spent together. In the year since her knighting, however, Sharya had become more withdrawn and quiet, and Granuille still blamed herself for that change. Sharya had also been accepting every mission the council would give her, hoping for a shred of information about her stolen sister.

Sharya had taken to running herself ragged, barely spending time in the temple between missions that could last days or even weeks; it was so bad that Sharya’s things were still in Granuille’s spare bedroom. She couldn’t bear to kick the human out, especially since Sharya had yet to request her own knight appropriate quarters.

In fact, Granuille hadn’t seen Sharya in person in almost two months; a handful of comcalls and talking over their bond between missions was all the contact they had had. The Council had taken to keeping her supplied with missions via subspace transmissions, despite her vehement protests. 

The training bond between them, that Granuille had insisted on keeping active, was heavily shielded, a precaution that Sharya had appreciated on the long, lonely missions. Now Granuille poked at the bond, a predetermined pattern to see if her padawan was awake and able to talk. It was early enough that she should be up, no matter wherever Sharya had disappeared to this time.

A few minutes later, as Granuille was dumping the last of her cold kaff down the drain, she received an answer, of sorts.

Suddenly, she was no longer standing at the sink in her cozy little kitchen. She was somewhere else, pain racking her body as she was forced to stare into burning golden eyes. She can feel cold at her wrists and ankles, and there’s a ripping sensation in her mind, as if someone was trying to yank her lekku out by the roots. Someone was screaming, high and thin, the sound echoing in the chamber she found herself in.

Another wave of crackling agony, and Granuille was also screaming as the training bond she shared with Sharya snapped.

She comes back to herself with a gasp, kneeling on the floor among ceramic shards. There’s not a scratch on her, but a gaping hole is in her mind, the edges ragged and bleeding, and Granuille feels every single one of her hundred and twenty four years weighing down on her.

Even with darkness corrupting him, and silver in his hair, she had immediately recognized her fallen padawan.

Gasping, curling her arms around her middle, Granuille Maille bowed over her knees, struggling not to cry.

“Larec,” she whispered, still reeling from the shock. “What have you done?”

—

Granuille is old by twi’lek standards; by Jedi standards, she is only just beginning to slow down, joints now aching on cold mornings, and making her katas a little slower than they used to be. She has survived the deaths of her parents, and siblings, her own master and many friends, as well as the broken bonds that came with the death of a Jedi. She has been on the receiving end of broken bonds, felt them fade away with time, death, and distance; still, never has she felt a break like this.

The ends of her once strong bond with Sharya are splintered and jagged, damaged beyond repair by what Larec had done to her padawan, and only time could heal those ragged, bleeding edges he’d left. She could only pray that Sharya wasn’t as injured by the snapped bond as she was.

“Granya? Wha-?” 

After the third call, a sleep roughened voice finally answers. Not letting him finish his question, Granuille broke in, foot tapping impatiently.

“Where did you send my padawan.” Voice flat, Granuille continues. “Our bond was just shattered, and I need to know where you sent her.”

There’s a shocked inhale on the other end, and she glared at the lift controls, urging them to go faster, the comlink in her hand creaking as her grip tightened on it.

“Granya, I’m so sorry,” he tried to say, but she cut him off again.

“Sharya still lives, but I’m not sure how long that’s going to stay the same,” she explained quickly. “The Defiler. He has her.”

Jettomar’s voice was still rough with sleep, but he’s awake enough to curse, voice going slightly flat as he pulled on the mask of the head of the Order. “Are you certain?”

Darting through the opening doors of the lift, Granuille sweeps into the hall before they even finish opening. 

“Yes.” 

“I’ll call the Council.” Jettomar paused. “You know Detluko won’t like this.”

“I’m well aware of his opinions on Sharya and I,” she said firmly. “I can handle him.”

“Alright. Give us twenty minutes, we’ll meet you at the council chamber.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she answered, comlink going dead as she settled down onto the hard benches outside the council chamber. 

—

It took over an hour of Granuille arguing with Detluko before he was willing to agree to an extraction team, and even then, it still took shoving her visions from Sharya down his blue throat before he bent his stubborn neck enough for a unanimous vote. The rest of the Council, Jettomar included, had taken her at her word, and simply sat back when he refused to listen to their arguments, watching his face pale when she shared the pain Sharya had been through without comment.

Now she was meditating on the benefits of ale at ninth hour on an empty stomach, and waiting for her handpicked team to arrive.

Beside her, Dral’Tiin was resting on his knees, his force presence a balm against the headache she couldn’t get rid of; his emerald green rebreather was whisper quiet as he meditated, his four fingered, clawed hands palm up on his thighs. 

Sighing, she shifted, leaning back on her hands and letting her legs stretch out in front of her, giving her knees a rest.

“Breathe, Granya,” Dral said quietly, murmuring in order to not wake Tavarin. 

The young knight had only just crawled into bed when she called him, grease still under his nails from some project, and was currently facedown in her couch, a blanket sliding off his shoulder as he snored.

“Keaira will be here soon, yes,” she huffed, just as softly, knowing exactly what the Kel Dor was telling her. “But Aden has patients that they can’t leave for another day, and Maura won’t get back until tonight. You know Detluko is going to refuse to see her until noon tomorrow, at least, just to try and spite me.” 

Face falling just a little bit, even as her lekku twitched in irritation, she added, “And I don’t know if I can stand to pull that memory again. Dral, what he did to her… I don’t know how she’s going to recover from this, or if she even could. He _ broke _ her.”

A four fingered hand reached across to pat her on the shoulder, and she grabbed it gratefully. 

“Sharya is strong, even in her grief, Granuille,” he comforted. “Her mother saw to that, and you made sure of it before you even knighted her. She will not fall so easily, no matter what Larec has become.”

“You didn’t see his face,” she whispered, eyes closing as she shuddered. “He was enjoying it, Dral. He was _ getting off _ on her screaming.”

It wasn’t even the fact that Granuille was one of those beings disgusted by sex that made her shudder; it was the way Larec’s eyes had shone with lust, the obscene glow of the dark side lighting them clearly in the cell, while her padawan had been in terrified agony, pleading with the force for any way out of the pain, near mindless with it.

_ Please, just let me die _ echoed brokenly through her mind, and she bit her lip against a sob, feeling her grief and then releasing it to the force with only a little bit of difficulty. 

It kept the knot in her throat from growing, but didn’t do much for her heart. Even when he had turned his blade on her, she couldn’t strike him down, still seeing the tiny black haired child who had clung to her lekku, instead of the rage filled Jedi he had become. Her younger self had called it an unnecessary attachment, at the time, but her younger self had been an idiot.

Sighing again, she lifted her head, poking Tavarin lightly. Ever the morning person, the human snorted once before opening hazel eyes questioningly, no sign of irritation from him, despite the circles under his eyes. 

“Check your shields, Tava,” she told him before he could ask. “Keaira’s almost here.”

Granuille wasn’t too far off on her estimate; just as Tavarin announced his shields fully raised, and asked where she had moved the tea, the door slid open to reveal a tall, muscled young woman, cybernetic eyes glowing softly. Her force presence was sparking with suppressed emotion, her shields not quite enough to block the anger and grief building in her. The excess energy made her headache worse, even through her own shielding, but she still raised her arms expectantly for her customary welcome home hug.

“Is it true, Granya?” Keaira asked as soon as the door closed behind her, strong arms wrapping around Granuille, giving and seeking comfort as they hugged each other. “Sharya was captured? By a Sith?”

“Kaff or tea,” Tavarin called from the kitchen, already preparing more mugs. “Go on, master, I can hear from here.”

Waving away Tavarin’s offer while Keaira made a face at the mention of tea, Dral’Tiin answered for Granuille, modulated voice calm. 

“Unfortunately, that seems to be the case,” he said. “Her mission was to investigate a formerly abandoned dark side temple on Corbos’ second moon.”

Nodding her thanks, Granuille took up the thread, accepting a fresh mug of kaff and cradling it in her hands as Tavarin emerged from the kitchen. Keaira had claimed the squishier side of the couch, long legs curling under her as she stole Tavarin’s abandoned blanket. She had only been back on Ossus for a few days since her last mission had ended, and already Granuille was about to send her out again. 

Tavarin stuck his tongue out at her as he handed over Keaira’s kaff and then wedged himself into the remaining corner, broad shoulders hunched to appear smaller. It didn’t work very well; Tavarin wasn’t as tall as Keaira, but he was broad, the springs of the couch creaking as he settled down.

“What the Council didn’t tell Sharya was who they suspected had claimed the temple.” She had to stop again, take a drink of kaff and a breath. “The Sith Lord who claimed it used to be a Jedi. His name was Larec Rivers, and he was, long ago, one of my most promising padawans.”

Eyes flickering to Keaira, who had stiffened, eyes narrowing, Granuille raised an eyebrow. The brunette settled back, still frowning thunderously, but the savage spike of rage and almost hatred that caused Tavarin to flinch was hastily muffled.

“They also did not tell her that a dark side wellspring is hidden inside the temple.” Her own temper flares, but no matter how shaken this morning had left her, she’s able to release it as soon as she felt it. The others don’t fare as well as she does, however.

Dral’Tiin, still on his knees beside her, was the image of calm, his orange-gold face peaceful, despite the fingers that flexed briefly, his anger a short jolt, there and gone. Keaira had jerked upright, mouth dropping in disbelief, her shields faltering again as her anger sharpened, and Tavarin paused with his mug halfway to his lips.

“Can they do that,” he asked, flabbergasted, ignoring the bush on his face that was about to get wet with kaff. He had only been knighted a couple of years ago, and still hadn’t encountered anywhere near the levels of assholery that Granuille knew the Jedi Council could drop to. “I mean, keeping information like that out of the briefing?”

“They’re not supposed to,” Keaira growled before Granuille could answer, eyes narrow. “Keeping that kind of information back leads to people dying in the field because they don’t expect it.” She looked at Granuille. “It was Detluko that prepared her briefing, wasn’t it?”

“I believe so, but since it was sent as a subspace transmission, there’s not going to be a name attached, just the Council seal. He still thinks I knighted her too early, that ass.” That wasn’t his only grudge against her, but it was the one he leaned on the most during their frequent arguments. “Sharya walked into this mission all but blind.”

“And she has paid the price; at some point last night, she was captured by Larec, and this morning, he shattered the training bond between us.”

Moving slowly, Keaira put her mug aside, feet dropping so that she could lean forward.

“Let me get this straight,” she said, fingers going white knuckled as she clasped her hands between her knees. “Not only did Sharya get bad information in her briefing, not only was she captured, but she was captured by the _ same Sith that attacked Dantooine and stole Lira?! _ What was the Council _ thinking?!” _

Her voice rose to a shout as she finished, and Granuille couldn’t agree more, but Tavarin was grimacing at the rage pouring off of Keaira, and even Dral’Tiin was making a face behind his mask. 

“Keaira,” she said firmly, waiting until the human had settled back to continue, arms crossing over her chest as she scowled, cybernetic eyes glowing a brilliant orange. “I don’t know, but that is why you all are here.”

“You three will be joining two other Jedi, both handpicked by me, on a rescue mission to bring Sharya home before Larec can corrupt her, and turn her to the dark. As soon as knight Kenna and healer Aden are able to leave, you will be going to Corbos’ second moon.”

—

Stopping Keaira before she followed Dral’Tiin and Tavarin from her quarters, Granuille looked at her carefully, wanting to make sure she would be able to handle what Granuille was asking of her.

“Keaira,” she started softly, resting one hand lightly on her shoulder. “I know how you feel about the fallen; are you going to be alright?”

A much younger Keaira would have admitted to doubt, to worry and fear for her adopted sister. A much younger Keaira would also have been unscarred by the murder of her master, and still have her original eyes. The implants along her jaw hide the lightning shaped scars left from the same attempt on her life that claimed her master’s, and that jaw clenched for a moment, eyes dimming as she glanced away from Granuille. In the force, her presence is still spiking with suppressed rage and grief.

Finally looking back at her, Keaira takes a deep breath.

“Master, you know I love Sharya like a sister,” she said. “I would do anything to bring her home safe. But I cannot go against the Council.”

“If Sharya is still untouched by the dark and by that bastard, then yes. I'll be fine, and I’ll bring her home.”

Granuille’s heart broke a little, hearing the rest of the unspoken sentence as Keaira hugged her goodbye.

_ If Sharya has fallen, I will abide by the Council’s orders, and bring her body back, to rest in peace in the memorial garden. The fallen cannot be saved. _

_ ~fin _

  
  
  



	5. Tamed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, kids, Always Pee After Sex.
> 
> Also, here, have some more porn.
> 
> Thanks to all the people curious enough to drop in, hope you're having fun.

When she's finally exhausted her tears for what she's lost, Sharya is too tired to argue against Larec’s gentle suggestion of using a sedative to help her sleep, and follows him from the fresher, head bowed as she scrubbed uselessly at the dried tear tracks on her cheeks. She does stop him when he tries to usher her to the bed, instead glancing up at him uncertainly, not wanting to sleep just yet.

“N-not yet? Please?” 

Which is how Naasade finds them later; Sharya, curled half into Larec’s lap and draped in the heavy, warm robe that he kept wrapping around her, while he read a book, his free hand gently combing through slowly drying hair. The occasional rasp of turning pages was almost inaudible over the crackle of the fireplace, and the door hissing open draws her attention from the dancing flames, dull curiosity briefly raising her head from his thigh. Letting her head thump back down when she sees purple hair and grey eyes, she refocuses her gaze on the small log that she’d been watching burn away.

The woman doesn’t blink at the sight, and the hand carding her hair doesn’t stop, so she does her best to ignore the fear trying to rise in her chest. Naasade perched herself on the further armchair, dropping a small duffel bag in the seat as she settled on the arm.

“Well, that’s done,” she said pointedly, resting one booted foot on the table in an abbreviated sprawl. “Nothing left to do now but pack up and head for home.”

Startled, Sharya shifted to stare up at the Sith, feeling something like anger stir deep inside her.

“Pack?” She asked, tone confused and slightly accusatory. “I thought this was your home.”

His hand coming to rest lightly on the back of her neck, he looked away from the book, meeting her gaze steadily. 

“It will be, little one,” he answered, voice comforting. “But there are many repairs that need to be done here, and I still have business off-planet to take care of.”

“But, you will be back soon,” she can’t stop the quaver as she speaks, but continues anyway. “Right? I, I mean, it won’t take too long?”

The way one brow rose as he slowly shook his head told her it _ would _ be a long time, and Sharya felt her mouth dry. 

She still didn’t know what to do about her… her future, but the thought of being left alone in this place filled her with a deep terror; even safe behind his shields, Sharya could sense the wellspring beneath them, stretching out from deep underground and trying to warp reality around it. The hand curled around her neck gives a gentle squeeze, urging her down and tugging the robe back up her shoulder when she begins shivering.

Naasade watched as Larec skillfully manipulated the Jedi, biting down on an evil chuckle when she rolled over to face the back of the couch, shrinking into the robe until she was a ball of black fabric huddled into Larec’s side, his free hand still petting her soothingly.

Shoving the duffel bag holding Sharya’s things to the side, she slides into the chair, crossing her ankles on the coffee table and ignoring the slightly irritated look that got her, raising her own eyebrow mockingly.

Taking a moment to double-check the shielding Larec had taught her years ago, she keeps her voice low and directed at him.

_ You haven’t told her about Dromund Kaas? Bad master, keeping information, _ she teased, smirking when fingers pinched her ass. _ Flirt. _

_ She doesn’t need to know just yet, _ Larec responded, eyes dropping back to the book in his hand. _ Her things? _

Picking the bag up by one strap, she let it swing gently onto the coffee table next to her foot. An easy nudge, and the bag slides across polished wood, the sound making Sharya twitch from her ball, violet eyes appearing over her shoulder to squint at her suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, it’s not going to explode,” she said dryly, lips curling when Sharya snorted at her. “I mean, I assume nothing is going to explode, but it’s your shit, so I could be wrong.”

The Jedi blinks and Naasade gets to watch as her words sink in, unable to stop an amused grin at the double-take Sharya gives her and the bag. She almost falls off the couch as she stretched out to reach it, only Larec’s quick reflexes stopping her before she slips from the edge. She doesn’t pay attention, awkwardly bending to unzip the duffel and dig into it, not noticing that the robe has gaped open from her movements, showing the pale curves of her breasts as she moved.

The first thing Sharya pulls out is the blanket wrapped nerf mug, and her face falls a little when searching fingers find nothing inside it. It’s still settled carefully behind her, nestled into the couch as she continued digging, face growing more distraught as she reached the bottom. In Naasade’s pocket, the holocron digs a sharp edge into her thigh, and she shifts, smile fading.

_ Godsdamnit, Larec, _ she sent, shifting again. _ Why do you have to pick the cute ones? _

His answer is so smooth, she almost wants to ask if he practiced that tone in a mirror.

_ I have no idea what you’re talking about. _

_ Sure you don’t, _ she drawled back, arching her hips up to help free the holocron from her pocket. “Mesh’la jetii.”

Looking up from where she was slowly repacking the bag, turning every item over in her hands as if to remind herself what it was, Sharya tries to glare at her, but the tears building in her eyes ruin the effect.

“What,” she asked flatly, voice nasally as she tried not to sniffle. 

Her hands barely rise in time to stop the holocron from smacking into her chest, and her glare turned to an expression of complete bafflement as her fingers close on it, finding familiar edges as she cradled the device in her hands. 

“Don’t hide the things that are important to you. That’s how you lose them,” Naasade tells her, before settling back in her chair, unable to summon up a smirk to turn the words mocking. 

Sharya blinks at that, but stays silent, running shaking fingertips across the surface of the holocron, something in her face relaxing. She does tuck the duffel bag safely behind her curled legs before dropping her head back onto Larec, grip tight on the holocron as her gaze flickers consideringly between Naasade and the fireplace.

Her holocron was the last thing she had expected the mandalorian to pull from a pocket. Keeping it close to her chest, she can’t stop her thumb from rubbing a circle into the metal, the familiar feel of it in her hands helping to settle her. She had fully expected that she would never see anything of hers again, much less the only record she had of her once complete family. While it was good to know her ugly, beloved nerf mug was still in one piece, it was far better that she could look into her mother’s eyes again.

Whatever her future held for her, at least she still had one link to her past.

But Larec hadn’t said anything since the cell about her sister, and she had to know. After a few minutes spent screwing up her courage, Sharya made herself sit up, pulling away from the Sith so she could look at him face to face. She also grabbed belatedly at the robe when it split open, baring her front to the waist, and making her flush in embarrassment when Naasade smirked at her.

“Thanks for the view, mesh’la,” she purred, seeming more comfortable now that Sharya was embarrassed instead of staring at her consideringly.

Eyes narrowing at the mandalorian, she raised her fist and showed Naasade her thumb, currently shoved between her first and second fingers. 

“How’s this for a view?” She asked acidly.

Naasade was still gasping with laughter by the time Sharya’s flush had faded, no matter how hard Sharya glared at her. Finally, she turned her head, stubbornly ignoring the woman while she wheezed out something about kittens.

Larec was resting his chin on one hand, smiling slightly as he watched Naasade slowly slide deeper into her chair, book held open with a finger marking his place. That smile switched to her, and she blushed a little more at the soft heat in his gaze. 

“Don’t be a tease, Sharya,” he rumbled, his amusement tangible. “You do know what that means, don’t you?”

“I’m fully aware,” she growled, before swallowing again. “M-master.” She stutters when she said it, but the bond warmed inside her head, and his eyes brighten with pleasure. “My sister. You said she was on Korriban?”

Leaning forward to place his book on the coffee table, Larec waited a moment before answering, settling back and resting one arm across the back of the couch.

“She is, yes,” he answered mildly, meeting her eyes. “She is being trained by the Sith lady who trained me.”

Something inside her twisted uncomfortably, but she ignored it, licking her lips before she asked her next question.

“Would. Would you take me to see her?” When an eyebrow rose questioningly, she forced herself to continue. “I haven’t seen her in so long, please, I just.” Tears are rising in her eyes again. “I just want to see Lira.”

“Shh, little Jedi,” Larec said, reaching to draw her close as she sniffled. “I can take you to Korriban, if that is what you wish.”

She managed not to bury her face in his chest, instead leaning against his shoulder and speaking to the fabric under her cheek. “I. I know that… I have to be a… a Sith.” 

“Will. Will you.” Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t bring herself to say it. 

A hand tilts her head up from his shoulder, forcing her to meet gold. In the background, Naasade’s snickering has stopped, and she’s sitting quietly while she watched Sharya struggle to speak, grey eyes still amused.

“Will you t-take me as y-your… your apprentice?” Her voice cracked, and her courage failed her as she buried her head back in Larec’s chest, heart pounding in her ears. 

Thankfully, his hand is back in her hair, and she shuddered, tears slipping from her closed eyes. Above her, he let out a pleased rumble, bending to nuzzle at her. 

“Yes, my little Jedi,” he purred into her ear. “I will be your master.”

Heart breaking a little more inside her chest, Sharya curls back into Larec’s lap, watching the fire burn through her tears, and ignoring the conversation her new master starts with Naasade. She listens long enough to know that tomorrow will be their last day on Edithae, and that Larec will take her to Lira.

At the moment, that’s all she wants to know, and she closes her eyes, clinging desperately to the warm, pleased bond inside her.

—

She’s still lying awake some hours later, despite the sedative trying to glue her eyelids shut, when the other side of the bed dips. Larec and Naasade had left the bedroom after she asked for the sedative, taking the untouched tray with them, and leaving her with a fresh load of firewood burning in the fireplace. The soft crackle of burning wood, so comforting earlier, is now just a dull roar that echoed inside her hollowed-out chest, and she rolls over to face Larec. His eyes are glowing faintly in the dim as he looked down at her, seemingly surprised by her being awake.

“Sharya,” he began, but she interrupted before he could say anything else, curling into the sheets uncertainly.

“I-I can’t sleep,” she mumbled, unable to look into glowing gold for long, shame heating her face as she tried to figure out what she wanted. “I… it hurts.” One hand crept up to curl against her chest without her notice as she continued, pressing against her heart as if to soothe the invisible ache. “It hurts, so much, and…”

“I want it to stop.” Her breath hitched, and she looked back up at him, tears standing in her eyes. “Please, make it stop hurting.”

She doesn’t know if she’s asking for him to distract her, or to do something about the shards of broken heart rattling around inside her, but he hesitates a moment longer, studying her silently.

Moving slowly, he raised one hand to brush hair out of her face before trailing down to tilt her head further up. 

“Do you know what you ask, little one?”

She shuddered, but nodded, asking him again. “Please. I don’t want to hurt… please make it stop…”

Time fuzzes, and for a moment, she’s in the cell again, tasting the words on her tongue and wondering how they got there before time corrects itself, and Larec was shifting to gently press her into the mattress, hands light as he eased her head back for a long, lingering kiss.

There’s no point in trying to hide how good his touch feels, this time; she is no longer a Jedi, no longer helplessly bound and forced to endure his hands on her. She asked for this, all but offered herself to him, simply to stop the ache inside her chest.

So, Sharya doesn’t hide her pleasure, letting sounds fall with only the slightest hesitation as he slips his tongue into her mouth, just as wicked as when he claimed her in the cell, but so much more gentle as he drew soft moans from her, one hand stroking down her side.

Arousal is beginning to thrum in her veins, echoing back and forth along the bond as she gradually uncurled beneath him, skin pressing against warm, comfortingly solid skin. Larec is hardening against her already, a stiffness that prodded at her belly before he shifted, taking some of his weight off her pelvis, one hand sliding between her legs to tease her sex, caressing her into slickness. It almost doesn’t feel real to her, and she moans into his mouth, grateful for the touches that are beginning to distract her from her looping thoughts.

Unsure what to do with her hands, she kept them curled into loose fists beside her head; she itched to touch, but she was still a little afraid of Larec, of doing something to anger him, and so she gasped helplessly when he pulled back, trailing kisses down to her breasts. Without meaning to, her hands dart to his shoulders when he takes a nipple into his mouth, her fingers digging helplessly into muscle as he sucks. His voice is in her mind before she can apologize, reaching up to curl her fingers around the back of his neck and squeezing reassuringly.

_ I don’t mind your touch, little Jedi, _ he sent, and she glanced down into warm golden eyes, panting as teeth scraped lightly across her peaked nipples.

That settles her, enough that she wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing him closer as her back arched, mouth dropping open on a cry when he dipped knowing fingers inside her, curling to touch something that set off sparks behind her eyes. She’s surprised by a groan when her fingers slip on his shoulders and her nails scratch down his back; his grip on her tightens, but the bond only flares with desire when she does it again. 

It wasn’t long before she was rocking against his hand, moans turning desperate; his fingers inside her are strong and sure as he sucks and bites at her skin, gradually leaving long streaks of wet on the inside of her thighs. Eyes gleaming in the dark, he shifted, settling his bulk back over her to seal his lips against hers, his hardness silky hot against her.

Sharya whimpers when Larec spreads her legs, hands firm on her thighs, unable to stop the spike of fear when her mind flashes, and Larec is replaced by the cruel soldier for an unending moment. But he pulled back, just enough that she didn’t feel smothered, and she could breathe in a desperate gasp, eyes flinching shut and hands darting to curl around herself protectively.

“My Jedi,” he rumbled, voice warm as he pressed soft kisses to her, soothing her fear and tilting her face back up to him. “You are safe, and you are mine, and he cannot hurt you now. No one will hurt you again, my apprentice.”

She shivered as she met his golden eyes, but nodded, swallowing hard, moving at his gentle urging and wrapping her trembling arms back around his shoulders. 

Claiming her lips in a long, deep kiss, Larec shifted, moving to settle back on his haunches even as he dragged her up with him to make her straddle his lap; her legs spread almost painfully wide as his cock pressed fully against her sex, her slick wetness grinding against him when she couldn’t stop her hips from jerking in pleasure.

He feels so big against her, like it shouldn’t fit inside of her, but he shifts, and moves, hips rolling, and suddenly something long and hard is gliding into her, forcing her inner walls to stretch as she chokes on a surprised wail. Tucking her head against his chest, she gasped when he finally stopped moving, eyes clenching shut as she adjusted to the intrusion, panting into his chest and fingers curling on his shoulders. His chest rose and fell with a strained groan, one hand digging into her hair and pulling gently.

“So perfect,” the Sith growled softly, before tugging her head up to kiss her, whispering filth to her as she whined. “You're so hot and tight around me, little Jedi, so wet and needy.” 

Larec starts moving before Sharya can do more than moan, stomach tightening with pleasure as his hips rolled, pulling out just as slow as he had entered her, one arm curled around her waist to keep her steady. His other hand stayed buried in her hair, keeping her head tucked against him as his thrusts remained slow and careful; he was bottoming out inside her, groaning as he buried himself to the hilt inside of his apprentice.

The slow, torturous pace was dragging sounds from her throat, whimpering moans that grew louder as Larec fucked her, and he growled again, tilting Sharya’s head to bite at her neck. She was soaking wet despite the anxiety that had spiked in their bond, obscene slick noises escaping from between them as he gradually worked her higher, enjoying the careless scratch of her nails on his shoulders as she lost control, her momentary fear of him now long forgotten. Their bond was rippling with desire and pleasure, and he wrapped mental fingers in it, reaching to feel Sharya’s mind as she began shaking, hips starting to work as she tried to speed his pace.

“Not yet, Sharya,” he murmured to her, huffing a laugh at her petulant whine. “Not yet. Be patient for your master, hmm?”

Violet eyes blink open to look up at him and she bites her lip, nodding jerkily, hands scrabbling at his shoulders as he changed his angle just a little; her eyes rolled back, and he smirked, using the force to hold her still as her mind blanked for a second. There was the spot he’d been looking for so carefully, and he adjusted accordingly, until the head of his cock rubbed against it on every slow stroke, and Sharya was wailing into his chest, clutching frantically at him. 

“Pl-please,” she whimpered, forcing her eyes to open. “M-master, please, I can’t…”

Above the sound of her own panting breath, she could hear the catch in his before he groaned, the bond reverberating inside her. Greatly daring, she convinced her trembling legs to move, to lift her enough so she could try and kiss him, pressing her lips inexpertly against his in a wordless plea. His grip on her loosens briefly before tightening again, tilting her head so that they slot together properly, nipping at her lips and mapping her mouth.

He was playing with the bond again, Sharya could feel it, but she remembered now, and used her own secret weapon. Letting her master direct her head as he desired, she begged.

_ Master, please let me cum, _ she sent, pleading as sweetly as she could. _ Please, please, I need to cum. _

Larec’s next groan is far more of a snarl, the kiss turning hungry. 

_ Clever girl, _ he growled into her mind, still somehow sounding pleased. _ That won’t work next time, my clever apprentice. _

But his thrusts grow harder, faster, and she’s wailing again, clinging to him when he leaned forward, planting one hand on the mattress to support them. His other arm is tight around her waist, but she can feel the force pressing against her back, and she knows that he won’t let her fall again. The bond is coiling down her spine, meshing with the pleasure and she finally shrieks, back arching; Larec followed close behind her, pounding until he was pulsing inside her, breath a low growl as he came.

Gasping, body twitching, she curled into him when he dropped to the mattress, shifting her so that she landed beside him and not under.

Abruptly feeling the sedative, Sharya shuffled a little bit, not minding the slick feeling of Larec slipping from her, hot streaks on the inside of her thighs quickly cooling. When she wakes up, she’ll be a little disgusted by the mess, but right now, with a strong, fast heartbeat slowly calming under her ear, and hands stroking the last aftershocks of orgasm from her, she’s content to be still and be held. She winds up resting her head on his chest, eyes drifting closed as he pulled the blankets up over them.

The crackle of the far off fireplace is soothing again, and she drifts off to sleep, warm and exhausted, her broken heart forgotten for a while.

—-

Waking the next morning only when the covers are flung off of her, Sharya can’t stop herself from hissing as she dragged a pillow over her head, blocking the light that was stabbing her in the eyes. There’s an exasperated sigh, and then her pillow is tugged from her hands.

“Nooooo,” she moaned, feeling around for another pillow, keeping her eyes closed.

“Sharya, it’s time to get up.” Larec. That was Larec.

Frowning, she rolled over, finding a pillow that smelled like him and burying her face in it. “Five more minutes.”

“I’ve given you twenty minutes already. Get up.”

Absently realizing that he’s starting to sound annoyed, she forced an eye open to see that Larec was standing at the side of the bed, fully dressed with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Really?” She asked muzzily, squinting over her shoulder at him. “Then why is the room still moving?”

“Moving?” His own frown forming, he looked at her closer. “You mentioned that yesterday. Are you having dizzy spells when you stand?”

Not wanting to nod and make the rocking worse, she scooted back across the bed to curl against him when he sat on the edge. Gentle fingers carded through her hair, and she sighed, relaxing under his touch; warmth tingled in her skull as he petted her, and she looked up through sleep blurred eyes. Something was wrong with his eyes, but she couldn’t figure it out, so she nestled her cheek against his thigh, sighing again.

The warmth spread over the back of her head, and the slight rocking of the bed beneath her ceased after another moment. Relieved, she glanced back up to see that the softly glowing gold she’s getting used to is now a rich, warm brown. Mouth dropping open, she can’t help but stare up at the Sith, dumbfounded.

“Your eyes,” she gasped, finally pulling herself up on one hand to look closer. “They’re not…”

“Gold and glowing? It happens,” he shrugged, brushing hair out of her eyes, not minding the close examination. “Especially when one uses both sides of the force.”

When she kept staring at him, he sighed before explaining. “Sith healing is not kind, Sharya, and I was not about to subject you to it. The light side has its uses, and gentle healing is one of them. I will not force you to abandon the light in favor of the dark, as some Sith do, but I will teach you to use both.”

Leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead, he stood, and grabbed something from the nightstand, motioning her to follow him to the ‘fresher. Still bemused, she scrambled off the bed, immensely grateful that the floor remained steady beneath her feet, trying not to mind how she was still naked before him.

“Go ahead and shower,” Larec said from where he was standing at the sink, busily spreading out a black cloth. Feeling nosy, Sharya tried to sneak a glance in the mirror, but couldn’t see what had been wrapped in the cloth. “I have a few more things to do, so let me know when you’re done, and then we can take care of your hair.”

At the reminder, one hand goes to feel the too short hair brushing unevenly against her shoulders, keenly feeling the loss before she swallowed, and forced her hand away, redirecting it to pull open the shower door. “Yes, Master.”

Then she paused with one foot in the stall, and sent him a pleading look. “Tea?”

“Of course.”

“Without the drugs, this time?” 

He laughed at that, but nodded, and she relaxed, happy to climb into the shower and scrub the dried, itchy evidence of last night from her skin. Larec comes back far faster than she was hoping, and she cut off the steaming hot water reluctantly at hearing the door hiss open, wrapping herself in the towel he threw over the shower door after scrubbing her hair drier. No matter it’s length, her hair always took hours to dry, it was so thick, and it was still dripping a little when she left the stall.

A chair had been placed in front of the counter, the back to the mirror, and she sat down with a minor flutter of nerves. Wrapping another towel around her shoulders, Larec sets to work quietly, gently combing the tangles from her hair while she buried her nose in a perfect mug of perfectly hot, perfectly sweetened tea. The caffeine is helping to dissolve her usual morning grumpiness, but she has to hand it back unfinished when Larec brings out the scissors, tilting her head with two fingers until he’s satisfied.

Holding still while careful snips cut her hair even shorter makes her shudder, eyes clenching shut when she starts to spot short chunks of blonde drifting to rest on the towel over her shoulders. Noticing the shiver, Larec paused, laying the scissors to the side and kneeling in front of her, a hand on her knee to catch her attention.

“Would it be easier if you watched?”

Shaking her head, she had to draw in a breath before answering. 

“I don’t think so,” she said, hands going to white-knuckled fists in her lap. “I haven’t cut my hair since mom died, and.”

Understanding lights his eyes, and he nodded, silently drawing her into a hug when she shudders again, holding her until her breathing isn’t shaking with the threat of tears. 

Before he could pull away, she spoke into his shoulder, hoping for an answer.

“Why… why can’t I stop crying?” 

Larec’s hold on her tightened a little, and he pressed a kiss to her temple. 

“Emotions can only be bottled up for so long, Sharya,” he murmured. “If you never let them out, and truly feel them before giving them to the force, they can fester, just like any wound. Once the bottle breaks, there’s really no choice but to feel the emotions that were locked away. Did you ever truly grieve for your mother, or anyone else you’ve lost?”

She and Lira had been rescued from the escape pod only a few hours after their mother had put them into it; a bare day and a half later, they had been handed over to the Jedi Order because of their force sensitivity and lack of relatives. Lira had been taken while Sharya was on the other side of the galaxy, celebrating her knighting with their exhausted master after a half-year of near-constant travel. Not even a week after that, Sharya had been heading into Sith territory with a stack of mission dossiers and rage, too worried to try and grieve, certain that she would find Lira before the week had ended.

But one week turned into two, then three, and the next thing she knew, half a year had passed, and she hadn’t found even a scrap of information about what had happened to Lira, or the other four padawans taken from Dantooine. It was like they had disappeared off the face of the galaxy.

Larec isn’t surprised when Sharya finally crumbled into him, near dry sobs wracking her frame. He simply held her, soothing her through touch and bond while she cried, offering the same wordless comfort he had the night before, and rubbing soothing circles on her back. 

When a wordless grumble from Naasade reaches him from the kitchen, Sharya has finally calmed down, sobs trickling into soft, occasional hiccups as the emotional storm passed. She still clung to him, however, and the tile was starting to hurt his knees. Tilting her head up, he kissed her bitten, lightly swollen lips, firmly telling his twitching cock later before moving to kiss her forehead. She sighed, relaxing just a little more against him, mind calm enough that she felt safe as he pulled away.

He had immediately noticed in the cell how beautiful Sharya was, even while terrified, but this trust she so readily placed in him, to not hurt her again, was a heady feeling. Coupling that with her flushed, tear-stained cheeks and sparkling violet eyes, the warmth of her pliant body against him, and he wanted to bend her over the counter, making sure she knew how beautiful she was as he took her like he had last night. He hadn’t missed the slight flush that appeared every time Naasade called her beautiful Jedi, and knew that Sharya didn’t believe the words to be true.

Right now, however, that would be… inappropriate, at best. So instead of stripping the towels from her and turning her to face the mirror, Larec eased her back into the chair, handing her back the tea as he stood. There was a washcloth waiting on the counter for after he was done cutting her hair, but it would serve better use now. After running it under cool water, Sharya took it with a mumbled thanks, rubbing the dried tears from her cheeks and sniffling one last time into the wet fabric. 

Taking up the scissors again, he quickly, but carefully set back to work, comb in hand as he separated and snipped, making sure that the layers were even as possible. It was proving a difficult task by dent of her hair beginning to curl into loose ringlets that Lira’s hair had never managed in the short time he had trained her, but eventually he had it tamed. Taking a moment to brush the hair from her shoulders after flipping the towel loose, he stepped back to let her stand and turn to the mirror.

Sharya’s honey blonde hair was now cut into a bob, the back shorter, and angled down to almost brush her shoulders in the front. Carefully crafted long layers allowed the curl to show without weighing it down, and Sharya’s mouth dropped a little when she looked at the mirror. The bond let him know it was in surprise, and he smiled at her shocked expression, draping his arms over her shoulders in a loose hug, tucking her head under his chin.

“Is it alright, little one?”

“I-yes,” she said softly, reaching to hesitantly touch the curls framing her lovely face. Locking eyes with his, not minding that they were shining gold again, she snuggled against him a little. “Thank you.”

_ Larec. I. Haven’t. Had. Kaff. Hurry the hell up! _

At Naasade’s irritated snarl, Sharya jumped, eyes widening as her head whipped around to face the kitchen. 

“And that would be our cue,” he sighed, nuzzling her hair before pulling away. Her hand on his wrist made him pause.

“Master,” she said, eyes still locked on the far wall, fear making her voice tremble slightly. “What is she, to you?”

Drawing Sharya back into his arms, he turned her to face him, one hand cupping her cheek to keep her looking at him when she tried to look down.

“She is many things to me,” he answered, noting the movement of her throat as she swallowed. “Naasade is the chief of my security, as well as an old friend. She is also well aware of my policies regarding that which I have claimed, and she is not a threat to you in any form, my apprentice. If I cannot be with you, she will be, to keep you safe.”

“She is also a bitch before her first pot of kaff,” he finished wryly, smiling at Sharya’s grimace. “Yes, I know. Tea is much preferable. Come on, get dressed. We have a ship to catch.”

—

Leaving Sharya to dress in the clothes he’d left on the bed for her, Larec made his way to the main room of his chambers, to find Naasade lying on the counter dividing the living room from the kitchen. She was flinging a knife into the air and then catching it by the blade, over and over, eyes narrowed in irritation.

“How is it my fault you haven’t had kaff yet,” he asked dryly, catching the knife before she could. If he was correct, then the blade was one she had claimed from Sharya; if so, he might allow her to keep it a bit longer, before returning it. “I know for a fact that there’s a very large allowance for kaff and tea both, I was bored near to death by the report yesterday.”

Turning her gaze from the blade floating in midair, she glared at him instead. “It’s your fault somehow, and you know it. The Orion has been on standby for an hour now, what have you been doing in there?”

“So impatient,” Larec said, letting the knife drop pommel first to her chest as he neared. “And you’ll find out soon enough.”

Grunting when the knife bounced off her chest, her mouth opened to snarl at him, and then stopped at the hiss of the bedroom door sliding open. He’s gratified by the way both eyebrows rise when Sharya steps through the door on still bare feet, one hand tugging his robe closed when she noticed Naasade’s silent, appreciative regard. She hesitated for a moment more before darting to his side, the duffel bag slung across her chest bumping into his hip as she grabbed for his hand.

Rolling off the counter, Naasade landed on knees and one hand, still staring up at Sharya, who clutched at his hand a little tighter. 

“Well well, good morning, mesh’la jetii,” Naasade said softly, standing and planting a hand on her hip. “If I had known you’d look so good in my clothes, I’d have picked something better for you to wear.”

At least that explained where Larec had gotten her clothing from, but she was still surprised. He had female soldiers here, she had seen them, but the shirt she was wearing had been washed to a soft, faded blue, and the clingy, equally soft trousers had holes worn in the back of the hems from being walked on, and she darted a confused glance up at her master. 

“Unfortunately, my quartermaster hadn’t thought to order smaller uniform sizes when I checked with him,” he explained, turning to the living room and tugging her along. “That, and I thought you would be more comfortable not wearing a uniform.”

“Oh,” she answered intelligently. 

It had just hit Sharya that she hadn’t stepped foot outside the bedroom since Larec had carried her there however many days ago, and she couldn’t stop curious looks at everything. Like in the bedroom, the furniture was mostly heavy, solid wooden pieces, with antique lines; there were comfortable brown leather armchairs and couches arrayed in the living room, another fireplace so large she could probably stand in it bracketed by more bookshelves. 

These shelves held more curiosities than books, and when her eyes caught on a leather collar, she jerked back from Larec, unable to tear her eyes away. The thing still bled pain and terror, her own fear a fresh imprint that tried to drag her back into the cell. 

“Sharya,” a voice asked, and a hand touched her, tilting her head to look into gold, and she shuddered, eyes clenching shut as she fought back a whine. Lips pressed against her forehead, arms drawing her close. “Naasade.”

“Already got it.”

Once she could convince herself to raise her head, there’s a stink of burning leather, and a faint screaming just on the edge of her hearing. 

“Not what I meant, but that works just as well,” Larec said dryly, not looking up from where he was examining her face. “Did you know you are an empath?”

Shaking her head, she swallowed down fear, trying to answer. 

“Not really,” she managed to say without stuttering. “At least, I never tested very high on it…”

“Hmm. Remind me to have you tested again,” he said, leaning to press his head against hers briefly. 

The touch, joined by a warm rush of affection down the bond, helped to thaw her frozen legs, enough that she could make it to a couch tilted away from the fireplace, where she didn’t have to watch the force inhibitor burning. That didn’t stop her from being able to hear it screaming, and she kept her head bowed until it stopped, flinching from the sound.

There’s a pair of boots sitting on the floor next to the couch, and her heart slowed in relief at recognizing the worn leather. Some small part of her that had been worried about having to walk through the temple barefoot again, relaxed as she pulled on her boots, stomping to get them properly settled on her sockless feet. 

Her first step outside of Larec’s rooms is a stark reminder of the dark side well far beneath them; her vision doesn’t take on the grey tint it had when she had broken in, but the rage-pain-hatred still hammered at her shielding, even when he tucked her close under his arm. 

She finds out rather quickly that she still can’t stand the sight and sound of a lift; she has to choke back a whimper of remembered terror when Naasade steps in behind her, and her hands go white-knuckled on the back of Larec’s tunics when she hides behind him. She couldn’t stop shaking, and couldn’t stand to look away from the floor, even when the mandalorian very carefully and obviously stayed on the far side of the lift from her, busily examining her nails without saying a word. Larec allowed her to stay behind him, and simply rumbled comfortingly at her, the bond warm between them, his darkness wrapping around her reassuringly.

The floor they stop on is busy with people, sounds echoing down the halls, and Sharya soon found out why; the floor they were on was apparently the main hangar for the temple, and the huge area was a sea of many different sized crates, equipment and people. Her master seemed to be honest about the repair work being ongoing; most of the crates she could see were labeled with building materials.

Staring around curiously without leaving the shelter of Larec’s arm, she was surprised to find herself cataloging the various ships she could see and name, counting the troop carriers and single man fighters, eyes darting to search for the obvious and not so obvious cameras. She had to stop herself before she got too far, firmly telling the small part of her that still insisted that she was going to have to report to the Council to shut up. She didn’t quit looking around, though, until her attention was caught by a gradually looming shadow.

A massive black object was looming above the other ships, sleek lines that promised grace and power, hinting at elegance; peeking out from under the wings were mounted lasers, and she thought she could identify other weapons mounted in strategic places on the ship. As neither Larec nor Naasade slowed, Sharya felt safe in guessing that the long black ship was the one taking them to… wherever they were going. She hadn’t asked where Larec’s current home actually was, and couldn’t remember if the name had been mentioned last night before she had finally stopped thinking altogether, to stare blankly into the fireplace until she couldn’t stand it anymore. 

Tilting her head up a little, trying her best to ignore the mechanics, pilots, and engineers moving quickly out of their path, hating how their eyes darted away as soon as she looked at them, their faces paling, she poked at the bond.

_ Master, _ she said hesitantly. _ Which planet are we going to, again? _

_ Dromund Kaas, _ he answered the same way. _ The hyperdrive was recently replaced, so we’ll be taking longer than usual to get there. I’ll begin your training on the way, and you will also be able to rebuild your shields. _

That answered her other questions, at least; she had begun trying to repair her shields in the few moments she had been awake enough to concentrate, as well as in the shower, only to give up when she realized how long it would take. She had managed to get some of the layers built back up, but the rest she would have to meditate to fix, and so Larec’s shields still guarded her mind.

_ Can I eat breakfast first, _ she asked, feeling her stomach wake up with a vengeance, and focusing on that instead of the fear stirred up by the mere mention of the planet. 

Dromund Kaas was the seat of the Sith empire, and a place that no Jedi could easily return from; even though there were hyperspace lanes into the caldera, ones that the Order knew about, the success rate for missions that deep into Sith space dropped significantly. Sharya had been thinking about accepting one of the missions anyway, if she hadn’t found anything here that could have led her to Lira.

Bitter amusement rose up in her; well, she got what she wanted, and only at the cost of everything else she loved.

Head dropping, she pressed a little closer to Larec when his hand slipped from her shoulder to her waist, fingers strong where they curled around her hip. 

_ Of course, _ he said softly, wordless warmth wrapping around her. _ It’s alright to be afraid, my apprentice. I was. _

Surprised, Sharya can’t think of anything to say, darting another glance up at him. They’re almost to the ship now, the lowered ramp all but beckoning them onward; taking that first step onto the ship made her stomach flutter with nerves, fear an icy hand tracing her spine under the warm robe.

There would be no coming back from this, just like there was no coming back from asking him to train her, or when she had begged him to make the pain stop last night. Sharya would be choosing to darken herself with every step she took after this, with every reassuring touch she sought from Larec and every lesson she learned.

She was actively choosing her fate, instead of letting the Order decide for her, and she was terrified that she was choosing the wrong thing. But she would see her sister again; surely that was worth everything she was tossing away. 

Right?

  
  


_ ~fin _

  
  
  
  
  



	6. Orion, The Hunter (part 1 of 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy some weird cuddling? and some shower sex
> 
> any errors or wonkiness will be fixed at a later time, as t is 2 am post american turkey day nd i am v tired
> 
> 12/3/2019--Edited for wonkiness. Also, why haven't i been typing this on a computer, it's so much easier than on my little tablet  
1/17/2020--re-uploaded for minor tiny plotty bits

“Welcome to the Orion, your home for the next week,” Naasade said in a growl, pushing past Sharya and Larec. “Get out of my way, there is kaff calling me.”

Because Sharya had stopped at the top of the ramp, staring. What would usually be a cargo hold had been divided and retrofitted into a miniature dojo; wide cabinets had been built into the left wall, and the floor underfoot had a slight spring to it. Mirrors lined the wall across from the entrance ramp, the lights overhead bright without being overpowering. The ceiling was fully high enough that she could practice almost all of ataru’s leaps and spins with no trouble, something that her little Starwren hadn’t provided her.

There had barely been enough space to ignite her lightsaber on her ship, and she found herself eager to spend time here. 

She was surprised when, after giving her a very brief tour of the ship, Larec disappeared into the galley with an assurance of breakfast, leaving her to unpack her meager duffel in the bedroom. 

For a long moment, she stood in the middle of the room, one hand clutching her holocron, the other hanging onto the strap of the bag, staring about with curious eyes. 

Just as in the temple, this bedroom had a pair of matching shelves against one wall, just as filled with books, but there the similarities ended; there was no display of weaponry, and other than a coating of dark blue paint, the walls were unadorned, the floor carpeted under her feet, and there was a nightstand on both sides of the bed. A wide chest of drawers almost as tall as she was, made of the same dark wood as the bed and nightstands, stood in one corner, and the door just beside the dresser held clothes that smelled like Larec. A single overstuffed chair was situated in the corner next to the bookshelves, a tall lamp and small table positioned perfectly for reading and holding tea.

The bed pushed against the wall was just as large as the one she had spent so much time in, and shallow shelves were built into the wall above the headboard. A large metal trunk had been secured to the footboard, and she finally settled her bag on it, absently wondering what was inside as she unzipped the bag. 

Most of her things, she didn’t bother removing; the crystals, the handful of sturdy, colorful feathers that hadn’t been broken by being jammed into the bag, and other knick-knacks would have to find new homes once they arrived on Dromund Kaas. The two battered paperbacks, hairbrush, holocron, and blanket wrapped nerf mug, however, soon had temporary homes.

Her pale green blanket wound up draped across the footboard, her hairbrush tucked inside the empty nightstand furthest from the door, sharing space with the books. The ugly nerf mug she kept a hold of, but she was torn when it came time to pick a spot for her holocron; habit had her eyeing the corners of the mattress before she remembered Naasade’s words. 

She hesitated, but finally set the holocron on one of the shelves above the bed, activating it to shuffle through the pictures. A tiny smile spread her lips when the first holopic was one of her and her sister, covered in paint from a disastrous attempt at repainting their bedroom in the temple. The picture had been taken just as Lira poured paint into a younger Sharya’s hair, retaliation for the handprints splattered across her tunics, Granuille bent over laughing in the background, equally covered in the same hideous lime green. Dral’Tiin, a Kel Dor who had basically adopted them, had stopped to visit that day and had taken the picture for his own amusement, calling them Granya’s Great Green Padawans for weeks after.

Sharya finds out rather quickly what was in the trunk when she tries to stuff her still almost full duffel bag inside it; the trunk was full of neatly wrapped rope, nylon straps, and soft, padded cuffs, that all but vibrate with excitement and lust when she poked at them. A sealed cloth bag caught her attention, and she opened it to find a thick, black, incredibly detailed phallus. Blushing furiously, she dropped the bag and slammed the lid shut, leaving her duffel sitting on top of it. 

Nerf mug in hand, she wandered into the galley, absently catching herself on a doorway as the engines engaged. She tried to, anyway; the liftoff was more sudden than she expected, and apparently more than Larec had expected, as well. There’s a mental bellow that almost deafened her, echoing in her skull as the inertial dampeners kicked in a second too late.

_ NAASADE, IF YOU BREAK MY SHIP AGAIN, IT’S COMING OUT OF YOUR PAYCHECK. _

“Like you pay me that much anyway,” was snarled over the intercom before it clicked off.

“Ow,” Sharya muttered, rubbing uselessly at her ears and glancing up at Larec, who was slamming the door to the cold store. “Master…”

Rumbling an apology, force presence still sharp with annoyance, he drew her close with an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“There are truly some days when I wonder why I let her pilot at all,” he grumbled into her hair. “And others when I deeply regret it.”

Releasing her after another brief squeeze, he exchanged her nerf mug for a _ very _ large mug of kaff with a stylized frowny face emblazoned on the side. Awkwardly catching the mug with her free hand when it proved heavier than it looked, she cradled it to her chest, trying not to spill any of the hot liquid on herself.

“The cockpit is down the hall and up the stairs,” he said, turning towards the counter that currently held a selection of cooking utensils and food. “Take that up to Naasade before she kills us all, please.”

Making a face at the bitter smell of the kaff under her nose—and at having to face Naasade on her own, without Larec acting as a buffer between them—Sharya nodded wordlessly, leaving the galley. 

The stairs were hidden beside the ‘fresher, and she nervously paused at the top; Naasade was radiating anger and annoyance, and she did not want to get any closer than she had to.

“I can smell the kaff from here, mesh’la. Gimme.”

Peeking out from behind the spiral stairwell, she squinted at Naasade, not handing over the mug just yet. The mandalorian hadn’t looked away from the controls, flipping switches and glancing at various screens as the sky outside the transparisteel windshield shifted colors, gradually changing from light to dark blue. One hand stayed on the control yoke, guiding them through Edithae’s atmosphere with absentminded ease.

“Are you always like this in the mornings?”

“No. I’m usually worse,” Naasade answered shortly, and Sharya frowned. 

“That’s not making me want to get any nearer,” she muttered, but sidled further away from the stairs before pausing again. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Hmm? Mesh’la jetii?” 

“Yes,” she said as she entered the doorway of the cockpit.

“Because that’s what you are,” Naasade said, as if that explained everything. As the view changed to the star dotted black of space, she continued. “You're damn pretty, but until your eyes are as gold as Larec’s, I’m going to call you a Jedi.”

She finally turned around, the chair swiveling easily so she could cast a slightly demanding look at Sharya. Behind her, Corbos grew in the corner of the window, a dusty brown and green ball floating serenely, the larger of Corbos’ two moons beginning to rise over the edge of the planet. “My kaff? Or do you have any more questions that can’t wait?”

Shaking her head, she hands over the kaff, bewildered by the delighted cackle that Naasade let out at the sight of the overly large mug.

“Oh, I pissed him off good,” Naasade chuckled, tilting the mug to better see the frowny face. At Sharya’s questioning look, she explained, smirking. “Your master basically told me to fuck off until I finish my kaff. See? Big mug, more kaff, takes more time to drink it. Here.”

A much smaller empty mug is handed to Sharya, and the mandalorian swiveled back around to face the controls, already raising the mug to her lips. “Tell Larec we’re going to lightspeed as soon as we leave Corbos’ gravity well. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

Before going down the stairs, she glanced back at Naasade. The woman’s nose was buried in the frowny face mug; nonetheless, she felt compelled to say it. 

“Thank you, by the way. For finding my holocron.”

She escaped down to the galley before Naasade could say anything, but she could still sense the mandalorian’s surprise under the annoyance.

Sharya’s nerf mug is filled with tea and sitting on the table when she gets back down to the main floor, and she cast a look at her master. He was currently standing over the stovetop, but waved her away when she timidly asked if she could help.

After she had wolfed down a breakfast of eggs, toast—without the jam, which reminded her all too much of slushy red sliding down walls—a small bowl of sliced fruit and some kind of tasty, spicy sausage patty, Larec had sent her back to the bedroom with orders to rebuild her shielding.

“Dromund Kaas is saturated with the dark side,” he explained while she ate. Apparently, he had eaten while she was asleep, but made a mug of tea for himself to keep her company. "Whatever weather it had before the empire settled in has been replaced by perpetual electrical storms around Kaas City, and many other Sith Lords have their homes there. There's a number of wellsprings on the planet as well, though only a very few are as strong as the one on Edithae."

“My shields would protect you, but only for so long. I’m going to be removing them so that you can rebuild your own.”

Flinching slightly at the reminder of how the well had affected her, the sheer pain and hatred that had shrouded the interior of the temple, Sharya looked down, poking her fork at the remains of her breakfast. “Yes, master.”

She almost didn’t want his shields removed; her own shielding felt weak and flimsy compared to the sturdy walls that he had built around her.

“Little Jedi.”

Flinching again, she refocused on Larec, dropping the fork and knotting her hands in her lap under the tabletop.

“You were picking up days old impressions from something that was on you for only a few hours, from across a room. By looking at it. They were not built to accommodate your empathy, and eventually, they will break.”

“You need an entirely different set of shields to compensate for that level of sensitivity, and only you can build them.”

With that thought in mind, Sharya settled onto the floor of the bedroom, her legs crossed. A candle that she had found in a drawer, one with a slender piece of wood to serve as the wick, burned on the trunk in front of her, drawing her gaze and helping to settle her mind. 

She hadn't really needed an external focus in years, but she wanted the familiar comfort of a burning candle; the gentle glow of the flame took her mind back to when Granuille had first apprenticed her and Lira, teaching their younger, more hyper selves different ways to meditate than the creche masters had. Sharya had taken to the candle meditation like the metaphorical moon moth, while Lira had fallen in love with using a tiny table fountain, getting lost in the endless flow of water as easily as a fish. 

Now, she breathed deep and slow, staring at the candle flame until her thoughts were quiet and open to the flow of the force around her. Even in the chilly depths of hyperspace, interacting with the force was a warm comfort, embracing her like a lifelong friend the moment she opened herself to its touch. The walls Larec had given her slowly pulled away as she settled further, leaving her poking thoughtfully at the ruins of her original shielding, and the paper-thin barriers she had created while in the shower this morning. Distantly, she's aware of her bond with Larec, of the warm, comforting touch of his mind on hers before he drew back, leaving her alone to commune with the force.

The force no longer ached as she touched it, free of the agony that drenched the temple, and she simply floated in its embrace for a bit, feeling still broken parts of herself begin to stitch together. Slowly, she began clearing the crumbled remains of her shielding, sinking even deeper into herself.

Using the trunk’s contents as another focus, since she could feel them even this deep into meditation, she spun walls around herself; the innermost layers were strong and thin, just enough to keep her from feeling the embedded arousal like it was her own. As she continued remaking her shields, working from the inside out, the lust faded even more, until she could barely sense it.

When Sharya was finally satisfied with her shielding, and only able to feel the trunk by choice, she opened her eyes to see that the candle had burned halfway down, wax puddling on the metal beneath it. Letting herself flop back onto the blessedly carpeted but still hard floor after blowing out the candle, she sighed, closing her eyes and enjoying the welcome silence in her head.

Her mind finally felt like it was her own again, in spite of the darkened training bond making itself at home inside her.

Rolling onto her side after a moment of that welcome quiet, she curled up against the thoughts that had begun to plague her as soon as she had asked Larec to train her; worries that she was making the second biggest mistake of her life, grief that she would never see her home again, and an almost bone deep terror at the thought of what she must learn to be considered Sith enough to go to Korriban. Even if she was only doing this to see Lira, to make sure she was alright, Sharya didn’t want to spend the time to think about it, or about what would happen to her should another Jedi come across her once she truly began touching the dark. 

There was also the newer fear of what stepping foot on Dromund Kaas could do to her, with her newly discovered empathy; if _ one _ dark wellspring had caused her vision to grey out, what would happen when she was on a darkened planet with _ multiple _ wellsprings, much less an entire population of Sith, all of whom touched and used the dark side on a daily basis? The memory of what Larec had felt like as he punished the soldier for touching her, the darkness that had swirled around him, made her shiver again, and she curled up a little tighter where she lay.

Lurking somewhere deep under her fears and worries for herself, for her future and for what might happen when she finally saw her sister, she knew she was angry, and hurt, but she didn’t want to face either of those feelings just yet. She had spent enough time crying, she just wanted to get through this one day without shedding any more tears before lunch.

As her thoughts started to circle back around uselessly, Sharya finally stood, shaking off and burying her many fears as she cleaned up the hardened wax and placed the candle on the nightstand she had claimed. Timidly poking at the bond, she received a distracted acknowledgment from Larec.

_ In the dojo. Bring your lightsaber. _

Grabbing the hilt from where she had set it on the nightstand, she followed the low thrum of the bond to the dojo slash cargo hold, stopping at the doorway to stare for a moment; Larec and Naasade were sparring, darting across the floor while blade clashed against plasma. Scorch marks peppered Naasade’s clothing, while Larec had abandoned his tunics at some point, revealing tanned skin marked by faint red smears.

As Sharya watched, Naasade faltered, her sword blade locked with blood red. Her foot slipped, and she dropped to one knee with a wordless snarl. Holding her sword in a two handed grip, she struggled to keep the lightsaber’s edge from her throat.

His own snarl on his lips, Larec did something that knocked the sword from her hands. Pressing the advantage, he shoved Naasade back with a kick, toppling her over and putting the tip of his lightsaber under her chin.

“Yield,” he said in a low rumble, eyes hard and gleaming.

“How about no?” Naasade panted, smirking.

There’s a lightning-quick flash of metal, but the Sith grabbed her before the edge could even get close to him. Bending her wrist back until the knife fell from her hand with a growled curse, Larec leaned closer, one knee settling on Naasade’s chest and pinning her to the floor.

“How about now,” he hissed. 

Naasade glared up at him a moment longer before going lax, hands dropping back to rest beside her head. “Fine, I yield. Now get off me.”

Smirking, Larec stood, blood-red blade disengaging with a soft _ snap-hiss _. Naasade stayed down, breath gradually slowing, until she waved a hand at him demandingly. Letting out an amused snort, he pulled her to her feet, and then turned to Sharya. Behind him, bending to retrieve both knife and then her sword, Naasade made a face at Larec’s back. Moving closer at Larec’s gesture, Sharya noted that the two had been at it for a while; Naasade’s purple hair, pulled back in a messy tail, was clinging to her neck and face with sweat, her sleeveless shirt soaked almost through, while her face was flushed with exertion. Larec was little better off, despite the cuts marring him; also flushed, skin slick, his silver touched hair was spiky with perspiration. 

Bruises were beginning on show on the two, evidence of blows that hadn’t missed; the mandalorian had been struck on her left shoulder and forearm, a reddening mark growing on her cheek. Her master had bruises along his ribs that looked a bit like a bootprint, while other small, fist-shaped bruises decorated his chest. Larec was looking at Sharya just as closely, and she shivered slightly at the touch of the force on her mind, pressing against her new shields experimentally.

“Well done,” he said at last, flicking a hand at a pile of towels stacked neatly beside the wide cabinet. He caught the summoned towel absently, scrubbing the sweat from his face and hair before swiping at the thin streaks of blood on his chest and arms; as he did, she was surprised to see that the cuts were already disappearing, and glanced up at his eyes curiously. There was no sign of the warm brown he had shown when he had healed her, and she blinked. “Time for a test, then.”

“What kind of test,” she asked, concerned enough to be distracted from asking about his eyes.

‘Test’ could be referring to the lightsaber in her hand or her new shielding, and she did not want to cross blades with him, not just yet; her heart had pounded faster at his low, furious snarling, so similar to the sounds he had made in the cell. She also did not want him to try and break her shields again, considering how long it had taken her to rebuild them, and how much it had hurt when he had broken them before. The idea of taking on Naasade also frightened her, her hand clenching unconsciously on her lightsaber.

“Nothing too strenuous yet, Sharya,” Larec said lightly, throwing the towel over one shoulder. “We need to make sure your shielding can stand against the dark.”

Catching her gaze with his own when she flinched, he reached through the bond comfortingly even as he tugged her close with a hand on her shoulder, tucking her head under his chin. As he had expected, tension began leaking from her frame at the growingly familiar touch.

“I do not do this to hurt you, my Jedi,” he stated in a soft voice. “I simply want to make sure you are protected.”

She gave a tiny nod, hair brushing across his chest as he let her pull away; the bond still spiked with nerves, but she was more settled than she had been. 

Leaving Sharya standing in the middle of the dojo, hands by her side and lightsaber clipped safely to a belt loop, Larec leaned comfortably against a tall crate pushed against the wall, where Naasade had already claimed a seat, finger-combing her sweat tangled hair. She was still grumbling about losing, but since she had won the second of their three bouts, she could get over herself; his ribs still hurt from the vicious kick that had cost him the match, while the first had ended in a draw, one of her knives aimed for his throat and his lightsaber stopping a hairsbreadth from her own. 

He began slowly, drawing on carefully cultivated rage to summon the dark side; around him, shadows gathered, gradually darkening the large, bright room; at his feet, his shadow began rippling, the edges growing less defined even as it darkened, quickly attaining a depth similar to the black void of deep space. When his eyes were burning from the energy, he directed it at Sharya, gently prodding and prying at her new shielding. She had built these just as well as her last, but they were far more flexible; he couldn’t get a grip on them until he had formed gentle claws to wrap around the walls, trapping them in place. He could have easily drawn on the ice at his core, freezing the things until they shattered, but that would also shatter the still fragile trust he had established with Sharya.

Murmuring comfortingly when she started trembling, he changed tactics; pain and hatred surrounded her, until she flinched back a step, eyes tightly closed and hands shaking visibly as they clenched into white-knuckle fists. Beside him, Naasade was frowning uncomfortably as she curled a leg under herself; while she wasn’t a true force sensitive, she still needed shielding of her own. Apparently, it was time for her to redo her shields as well. Normally, she wouldn’t have been affected by this.

Throughout his careful testing, he kept the bond open and warm, calming the fear rising inside his apprentice even as his force presence darkened further. He was doing his best to emulate the heavy, near unbearable feel of the force from his first visit to Dromund Kaas so long ago, when he still raged over the pointless loss of his Rayadri, before Morgana had sunk her claws into him.

Once he was satisfied with the strength of Sharya’s shields, he released the dark side, feeling the glow from his eyes dim as the shadows abruptly disappeared, his own going still and returning to being merely a shadow, instead of a reflection of his use of the dark side. 

“Very well done, indeed,” he praised, watching as Sharya’s muscles slowly relaxed, now that she wasn’t surrounded by the dark. 

He wasn’t even exaggerating; her shields were fully capable of holding back almost the full brunt of his darkness, despite the fear causing her to shudder. She still crept hesitantly up to him when he gestured, eyes wide, but she leaned against him trustingly anyway, snuggling into his arms and burying her face against his chest.

Pressing his lips to her hair, Larec let Sharya cling to him until the faint tremors had left, and her heart had slowed its frantic beating. His force presence hadn’t been that dark even when she had been locked in the cell with him, and she didn’t want to feel it again, no matter that it was just a test for her shields. 

At least she couldn’t feel that darkness like she had before, sinking into her and burning into her mind.

Fingers under her chin tilted her up so that she looked into warm gold, a soft kiss pressed to her lips helping to calm her further as nothing happened, as the dojo stayed brightly lit instead of drowning in near tangible shadow. 

“See, my apprentice? No harm done,” he finally said, a hand curled around the back of her neck. “Are you ready to continue?”

Nodding silently, Sharya curled her fingers against his chest, taking a deep breath before pulling away and placing a hand on her lightsaber.

“Um,” she started, glancing uncertainly between Larec and Naasade. “I don’t have to fight today, right?”

“Today, no, tomorrow, yes,” he replied, leaning back against the crate. “Today is for me to gauge your skill. What forms do you use the most?”

“Fifth, djem sho, mostly, and some fourth.”

With that question began a thorough quiz on her fighting style, as well as what else Granya had taught her. At the mention of the knife fighting, Naasade’s eyes lit up, and Larec turned to look at her, one brow raised.

“Give them back,” he said sternly, and Sharya was confused until Naasade shifted to pull both of her confiscated knives from behind her back.

“So that’s why you have such good taste,” the mandalorian purred, dropping them into Larec’s outstretched hand. “Want a match later, mesh’la? He doesn’t do knives, and it’s been a while since someone could keep up with me.”

“I-I’m good,” Sharya said, a little shocked as she accepted the knives from him. 

Once again, something she had thought lost was returned to her hands, and, even though the blades felt a little like Naasade, another piece of herself settled into place. A gift from one of Granuille’s personal students once she had proven she could keep herself alive in a fight against the red skinned Jedi, Sharya had kept Maura’s knives with her on every mission; they still felt like the home she had lost.

“Mm, suit yourself,” Naasade replied, dropping from the top of the crate. “I’m gone, have fun.”

“Your shields are slipping,” Larec called after her, frowning. “Fix it.”

A rude gesture directed at him is her answer, and he sighed. As soon as Naasade had left the dojo, a frown of her own creasing her face, Sharya asked, “She needs shielding? Is she force sensitive?”

“She’s more of a telepath than a sensitive,” Larec answered softly, “although she didn’t have proper shields until she met me.” Turning his gaze back to her, a challenging gleam in his eyes, he continued. “It sounds like Granuille prepared you thoroughly. Ready to show off?”

Thus began the most horribly exhausting three and a half hours of Sharya’s life; after settling on top of the crate, Larec had her perform every variant of every lightsaber form she knew, at normal and force enhanced speed. After demonstrating her skills that way, he snapped out a sequence of attacks, blocks, parries, ataru leaps and spins, and she followed them, repeating the current sequence each time she stumbled, or fell short of where he wanted her to land on the springy floor. Or ceiling. Or wall, or cabinet, or crate, or…

She couldn’t stop from glaring at him when he had her repeat one particular series five times in a row, jumps from one side of the dojo to the other, using every trick she could to avoid touching the floor.

“Why exactly,” she panted, bent over with hands on her knees and glaring at him after failing for the sixth time. “Am I not touching the floor.”

Because she had misjudged the distance from the top corner of a cabinet to a round barrel placed slightly off-center of the dojo, again. This time, she had smacked her hip into the thing when she overshot the slick plastisteel top, foot slipping off upon landing. 

Not moving except to get more comfortable against the wall, Larec smirked at her. “Pretend the floor is lava.”

“Ugggh,” she groaned, dropping her head.

“Do it again, and this time, watch your footing,” he said, finally taking pity on her, but still smirking. “If you get it, it’s the last one you’re doing. For today, at least.”

Sharya managed to stick the landing, although it was a close thing. The barrel wobbled alarmingly underfoot, and she had to grab it with the force to keep it still, but she got it. At his satisfied nod, she dropped to the floor, spread-eagled and gasping for breath, eyes closing. 

“Go take a break, Sharya,” Larec told her, standing to pull his tunics back on. “Come back in five minutes, however. There’s one more thing I want you to do, and then we’ll be done.”

It took her a minute or two to drag herself to her feet and go to the ‘fresher to duck her head under the faucet, trying to cool down some. When she was done, she glanced up at the mirror, trying to see if she recognized herself under the new hairstyle, and the fear still shadowing her eyes. She still did, somewhat, and wondered if that would change, if she would stop knowing her reflection the more time she spent with the Sith who had claimed her so thoroughly.

On her way back to the dojo, her hand shot out as she passed the galley, grabbing something almost before she realized it. Blinking, she looked down to see a ration bar and sealed bottle of water in her hands, and then up at Naasade, confused. 

The mandalorian was wearing a towel, hair down and dripping as she turned back to refill the kaff pot, the frowny face mug beside it. 

“What,” she said blandly, not looking up. “You missed lunch. In fact...” She trailed off, reaching up into a cabinet without taking her eyes off the stream of dark kaff beginning to drip from the machine. Another sealed water bottle and ration bar were thrown at her with an almost grumbled, “So did he.”

Catching them with the force when the ration bar threatened to hit her in the face, she juggled them until she could peel open a bar, stuffing it in her mouth; breakfast suddenly seemed very long ago, and she was starving. 

“Fhanksh,” she mumbled around the bar, starting off again. She was crumpling the wrapper into a ball as she passed the round crate and stuffing it in a pocket, still chewing.

“Did you even taste that,” Larec asked as she got closer, tone amused.

“Do I want to,” she retorted. Ration bars were known to be universally terrible, and this one proved no better.

After handing over his own bar and water, Sharya settled back onto the floor cross-legged, sipping silently; she knew better than to gulp down liquids after that much physical activity. Larec ate his far slower than she had, absently playing with a fancy remote, one with multiple small blaster barrels poking from the round shell.

As soon as her water bottle was empty, he tossed the remote into the air, where it hovered silently, barrels twitching. 

“Ready to start again?” 

She groaned, but stood, lightsaber in hand; the hilt had started to get warm under her palm while she had been jumping around the room, but it had cooled off, and she told herself to keep on eye on it. Her groan turned to an eep when a wave of similarly fancy remotes rose out of the open crate Larec was leaning against, every barrel twitching before focusing on her. 

“Uh,” she started, then licked suddenly dry lips. “Am I supposed to fight all of them? At once?”

Smiling wickedly around the bottle at his lips, he lowered it enough to say, “Yes. Starting now.”

Yelping, Sharya tossed herself to the side, rolling across the floor to land in a crouch; the remotes had spread out at his words, some trailing her, while others flanked her, bolts striking the floor around her. She immediately had her lightsaber ignited and deflecting the red bolts coming towards her, some hitting the walls instead of the remotes she was aiming at. 

“Can I at least,” she stopped to dart up a wall, avoiding three remotes following her closely. “Get another.” Grunting as she landed with her back to another round barrel, golden blade weaving a shield between her and the red bolts. “Saber?!”

“Would you be able to get another lightsaber in the middle of battle?”

Growling, she took out another remote. At least they stopped following her once they had been hit, floating over to hover above Larec. “Maybe.”

Just then, a remote snuck through the shield wall she had formed, the sudden bolt of pain shocking her enough that her defense faltered.

“Ow!” She yelped, jerking back against the barrel and shooting him a quick glare. “That hurt!”

“That’s how you know it’s working,” he called, smirking and crossing his arms, half-empty water bottle dangling from his fingers. “I’m not going to make this easy for you, so get to it; defeat the remotes.”

“It made my arm numb,” she couldn’t help but complain, redirecting a bolt to hit one of the remotes coming at her while dodging another.

He kept her playing with the remotes until she was gasping and winded, sweat dripping from the ends of her hair and soaking the collar of her shirt. Larec only let her stop when she couldn’t dodge the continuing stun bolts, calling off the latest wave with a gesture when she took four bolts at once. 

Dropping to her knees on the springy floor, Sharya stared dazedly at the boots walking towards her. It took her a minute to shake off the fog the stun bolts caused, and longer for the tingling numbness to fade from where she had been hit. A dry towel dropped over her head, and she took it gratefully, pulling it off to scrub at the sweat dripping from her.

She’s still winded, but she accepted the hand Larec offered without a word, stumbling into him and dropping her head to rest against him wearily. Behind him, the remotes were buzzing as they packed themselves away. 

Force, she _ ached _; performing every kata she knew twice over, and then fighting wave after wave of remotes was exhausting, especially once Larec had made her target specific remotes among the small horde. 

“Can I go lie down now,” she mumbled into his chest.

Closing her eyes and shoving her head against him when he chuckled, she grumbled wordlessly over the bond at him.

“Do you want a nap more than a shower?”

Pulling away just enough to shoot him a squinty-eyed look, she paused before answering. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”

Chuckling again, he turned her around and, with an arm around her shoulders, led her out of the dojo to the ‘fresher. 

The ‘fresher onboard the Orion was much smaller than the one in the temple, but the shower stall was still big enough for three people to bathe at the same time and not get in each other’s way. Sharya had just finished rinsing the sweat from her skin when Larec climbed into the shower stall, mentioning something about saving water.

She was almost ready to leave the shower when teeth sank into her neck, and hands cupped her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples before dropping to hold her by the hips. Letting her eyes drop closed, she relaxed into Larec’s arms with a quiet sound as he dragged her close; she could feel him beginning to harden against the small of her back, a soft rumble in his chest as he licked and bit at her neck and shoulders.

Swallowing, wanting to touch, she turned in his arms to look up into molten, heated gold, and deliberately placed her hand on him, curling her fingers around his thick shaft. She could feel her face heating at her boldness, but the low rumble from Larec’s chest continued, and the hand sliding up to cup the back of her neck encouraged her; he was silk over hot steel as he leaned to claim her mouth in a long, slow kiss. Eyes closing, she let herself get lost in the arousal she shared with him, dropping some of her new shields to better feel it, to better feel him.

It wasn’t long before he was fully hard under her inexperienced hand, thrusting shallowly as she stroked him. He hissed in a breath when she hesitantly squeezed the head, releasing it in a growl; crowding her against the slick wall of the shower, he shoved his tongue into her mouth, the slow kiss turned hungry. Her hand was trapped between them, awkwardly bent until she wriggled it free to clutch at Larec as the force slipped between her legs, where it stroked teasingly against her folds, drawing a gasp from her.

“My Jedi,” Larec rumbled, breaking the kiss to tilt her head and bite at the corner of her jaw. _ Kneel. _

Catching what he wanted her to do through the bond, she swallowed but still obeyed with a breathless, “Yes, Master,” that caused his eyes to glow brighter, golden irises thinning.

The touch between her legs continued as she dropped to her knees in front of him, and was joined by the feel of hands cupping her breasts, squeezing and adding to the fire inside her. His hand curled into her hair and pulled gently, tilting her so she could tentatively lick at the bulbous head at her lips. 

He tasted like skin, and musk, and the water still pouring down on them, and he groaned as she circled the head with her tongue, pausing to lick curiously at the slit. 

“Oh, good girl,” he growled, fingers tightening where he gripped her hair. “Very good girl. Keep using your tongue, just like that.”

Moaning at the order, she obeyed, slowly exploring his cock, stopping to lick harder at the places that caused him to groan and growl. Pressing her tongue firmly against the underside of the glans made him hiss; following the thick vein along the bottom of the shaft up to circle her tongue around the base of his head made his hips jerk forward, growling. 

A tug on her hair eventually draws her attention from him, and she glanced up, only then realizing that she was panting, and almost unbearably aroused, her sex aching from the still teasingly light touches of the force. 

His eyes were molten heat, the hand not buried in her hair braced on the wall so that he was looming over her.

Releasing her, he cupped her chin, stroking her parted lips with his thumb. 

“Open,” he commanded softly. A pleased smirk tilted his lips as she obeyed without thinking. “A little wider.”

Keeping her mouth open as that long, thick cock slipped into her, she belatedly curled her lips over her teeth, suddenly afraid of catching him; the warning from the soldier ran through her mind, and she forced herself to stay still, reminding herself firmly that this was her master, that he wouldn’t hurt her like the soldier had threatened to. Their bond warmed in her head, reassurance coiling into her mind as he caught the edge of her thoughts, his fingers gentle where they curled under her jaw. 

He continued to move carefully and slowly into her, thrusting shallowly, gradually pushing deeper into her throat; she whined softly when she felt the head of his cock brush the back of her tongue, the vibrations dragging a strained noise from Larec. He paused, his hand tightening briefly, and she pressed her tongue firmly against the underside of him, feeling her closed eyes begin to water as she struggled to ignore her gag reflex.

“Easy now,” he murmured after a moment, returning his grip to her dripping hair. “Take a deep breath, and relax your throat.”

Taking a desperate breath as ordered when he pulled out, she swallowed around him as he pressed back in, somewhat embarrassed by the saliva beginning to slick her chin. Abruptly, he was deeper than before, and she whined again, wanting to pull away and unable to; her back was pressed to the wall, his hand still holding her. She could feel the head of his cock bumping against the back of her throat as he pushed further still, and her heart thudded in her chest as she realized that she had managed to take just over half of him, that there was still more to go. The touch between her legs suddenly shifted, sliding into her in tandem with his thrusts, and she couldn’t stand it; she was so close to coming already, and he had barely touched her with his hands, relying on the force to caress her into slickness.

Her own hands were braced on his thighs, fingers curled so she wouldn’t scratch. Opening her eyes, she stared up at her master pleadingly, wordlessly sending her desperation to him; she wanted to breathe, and she wanted to come, wanted his hands holding her by the hips as he sank inside her. Golden eyes were fixed on her face, and he pulled free of her mouth; thin strings of saliva dripped from the head of his member as she gasped for breath.

Instead of pulling her to her feet like she wanted, Larec wrapped his hand around her throat, pressing lightly to keep her pinned against the wall.

“You’re doing so well, my Jedi,” he said in a soft, pleased rumble, thumb gently stroking along her racing pulse. “But you are not to come until I give you permission. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes, Master,” she stuttered, something inside her shivering at the note of command in his voice. “Please. I want… inside me? Please?”

Chuckling, he leaned down to kiss her, licking the taste of himself from her mouth, and she moaned at the touch of his mind on hers.

_ Stand up, and show me that tight ass of yours. _

Scrambling to her feet as soon as his hand left her skin, Sharya turned, glancing over her shoulder at him when he gripped her by the hips, adjusting her until her rear was pushed out and her back arched to his satisfaction. 

Teasingly, he finally slipped his cock between her legs, rubbing against her soaking lips. Letting out a whine, she pushed back, trying to get him positioned to ease the ache and plunge inside of her, only to stop when he fisted her hair again, holding her firmly against the wall with another dark chuckle. 

“Patience, Sharya. Don’t worry, little one, master will take care of you,” Larec purred, biting at the flesh between her shoulders. 

Stifling a cry at the shock of pain, she felt that knot of desire grow tighter as he continued teasing her; his shaft was hard, the head grinding on her clit as he soothed the throbbing mark on her back with gentle swipes of his tongue. The force coiled lightly around her throat, a collar that tightened with every slow thrust of his hips; one hand kept her pressed to the wall, the other curling around her waist after her legs began trembling with need. 

“Master, please,” she begged at last, feeling tears bead in the corners of her eyes, unable to bear the torturously slow movements any longer. “I want you inside me, please put it inside, I need it.”

“Remember what I said last night,” he said in a soft, amused growl, pausing to bite her again, teeth sinking into the join of her neck and shoulder. “Begging won’t always work.”

The water coming from the showerhead was cold now, doing nothing to ease the heat inside her, but making the places where they pressed together feel burning hot in contrast. He pressed his chest against her back, holding her still to continue slowly dragging his cock against her sex, almost perfectly angled to slide into her. 

Sobbing dryly, her thighs sticky with her own slick, she finally grabbed at the arm around her waist, struggling to get the leverage she needed to push him inside, frantic with desperate need.

“Sharya.” A snarl this time, his fingers punishingly hard on her as he stopped moving. “I can and will stop, and if I stop, you don’t get to come.”

Forcing herself to let go, still hiccuping sobs, she placed her hands next to her head. She was shaking now, as much from the cold water as from her arousal, and she couldn’t stop the pleading words falling from her lips. 

“Oh gods, please don’t stop,” she cried, pressing her flaming cheek against cold metal. Tears were running from her eyes again. “Don’t stop, Master, please, I need you inside me, I’ll be good, please.”

Hands grabbed her wrists, pinning her in place.

“If you move again, I’m going to stop. Do you understand, my apprentice?”

Nodding, still crying, Sharya held as still as she could, chest heaving. The force around her throat had tightened enough that spots were starting to appear in the corners of her eyes, but the hard, thick length abruptly plunging into her distracted her, and she let out a desperate, whimpering cry.

“Ma-ster!”

His slow, teasing pace from earlier vanished with her cry; keeping her wrists trapped in one hand, Larec began pounding into her, hips brutally snapping forward. His other hand held her in an iron grip, fingers bruisingly tight on her waist, and she shoved her front against the cold metal wall, struggling not to move with those thrusts; her body wanted, needed to find a rhythm, instincts far older than she could imagine demanding that she push back and fuck herself to orgasm on the cock buried inside her. The effort to obey him, to not move or come without his permission, made her keen and weep, fingers clawing at the metal beneath her. Larec wasn’t reaching through the bond like she knew he could, leaving her to try and control her orgasm on her own, and Sharya didn’t know how much longer she was going to last. 

“Can I come? Please, can I come,” she gasped into the wall. Her vision was narrowing, but she still felt the growl that rumbled Larec’s chest. 

“No,” he grunted, his own breathing harsh. “Not until you’ve proven that you can control yourself.”

Viciously biting the inside of her cheek when he shifted and fireworks sparked behind her closed eyelids, she couldn’t concentrate enough to speak; her release was so close, the edge just out of her reach, and she fought it, squeezing her hands into aching fists, nails digging into her palms. 

Larec was snarling as he hammered into her; releasing her wrists, he dragged her even closer, and she shrieked at the increased sensation. Tears were pouring down her face, the force a fierce grip around her throat, and she couldn’t breathe and she _ couldn’t come, master, please let me come, please! _

One last snarling thrust and he was pulsing inside her, his voice ringing in her mind the last thing she heard before the world blanked out. 

_ Come for me _.

Catching her when she began to fall, Larec let out a ragged breath, hissing as he slipped from her. A hand cupping her sex made her groan, head lulling even as her hips jerked at the light touch. Holding her still against him, he ran his fingers back along her dripping slit, gathering some of the cum that was already beginning to leak from her.

Shuddering violently, Sharya pressed back against him, wearily grabbing on to the arm wrapped securely around her waist. She wasn’t sure she could handle another orgasm and whimpered when his fingers brushed her throbbing clit a second time. But instead of forcing another on her, he moved his hand, putting two fluid-streaked fingers to her lips.

“Clean it,” he rumbled softly. 

Closing her eyes, she obeyed, licking the mess from his skin and moaning at the taste of them mixed together. 

When she could finally stand without her knees trying to buckle, Larec pulled away, keeping a hand on the small of her back to guide her from the shower. Their bond was warm with the afterglow of climax, coiling in her mind comfortingly; she was still shaking from the intensity of her release, and she leaned into his side wearily until he released her.

Scrubbing herself dry with the towel he handed her, she wrapped it around herself before turning to glance at the Sith, only to pause, forgetting what she was going to say.

His back was turned to her as he dried off, and Sharya was finally able to see the whole of the tattoo she had spotted that first night.

It covered most of his back in shades of dark red belly, pale green scales and was highlighted with thin lines of gold; an undulating, four-legged body, topped with a maned head, the sharp-toothed mouth half-open in a snarl, a brilliant red tongue just visible between gleaming white teeth. The head was placed between his shoulder blades, twin horns spiraling almost to the base of his neck; the long body arched to cover the back of his right shoulder, before coiling down to end in a white feathered tail around Larec’s left hip. Between the inner legs and just under the dragon’s jaw was a series of squiggly, spiky lines, that looked slightly out of place, as if they had been an afterthought. 

Without thinking, she reached out to trace the snake-like body of the dragon with her fingertips, following the coils from the bowed, snarling head down to the feathered tail. There was the slightest difference in texture, under her fingers, between tanned skin and tattoo; barely discernible lines formed individual, gold-edged scales, but the scratchy black lines under the dragon’s claws felt different, more like they had been carved into his skin rather than tattooed.

Swallowing, she glanced up to see that he had turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, one brow raised slightly. 

The eyes of the dragon were the same brilliant gold as Larec’s.

“Well,” he asked softly, eyes glowing. “Does it meet your approval?”

Jerking her hand back, flushing, Sharya began to nod, then shook her head, and then nodded again, squeaking something that even she couldn’t understand. Amusement colored the bond, and he chuckled, knotting his towel about his waist.

“Granuille was speechless when she saw it, too,” he said. “She did not approve of her seventeen-year-old padawan getting such a tattoo without her knowledge.”

“That kind of makes sense,” Sharya managed to say, voice still squeaky. Seventeen was legal in some systems, but most considered eighteen or even twenty to be the legal age. Some of Sharya’s early missions had been in those systems, and only the fact of her being a Jedi had let her complete them without a government-assigned chaperone following her everywhere. 

Then, “Wait. Granya was your master, too?”

At his nod, a flash of memory from the night before runs through her mind, the words he had spoken while holding her through her tears. _ No matter how much she may have cared for us. _

“She never told me about you,” she mumbled, head dropping. “Even after Lira… why didn’t she tell me?”

Larec’s hand cupping her chin forced her to look up through the tears building in her eyes. 

“Because of shame. I was the first padawan she ever lost to the dark, after all.”

“And I’m the third,” she choked out, tucking her head against his chest as arms wrapped around her. 

At least she didn’t cry as hard or as long as she had last night. Only a few minutes passed before she was able to sniffle and pull away, although Larec’s hand stayed on her shoulder, keeping her by his side as they passed the lounge to the bedroom.

“About time you two finished in there,” drawled Naasade, and Sharya glanced through the door, grip tightening on her towel.

Naasade was flipping through channels on a large viewscreen built into the far wall, finally coming to a stop on a shaky view of someone screaming as obviously generated tentacles wrapped around them. The woman sent her a smirk, and leaned back, showing off her lack of adequate clothing for polite society; she was wearing only a sports bra and tight, short bottoms, her purple hair loose on her shoulders. She had the frowny face mug in front of her again, and her feet crossed on the low, sturdy table in front of the couch. 

“I’m glad I showered first, I’m pretty sure all the hot water’s gone,” she continued. “By the way, what’s for dinner?”

“You’re cooking,” Larec said blandly, not even looking as he continued walking. “You pick.”

“Good,” Naasade said, grinning as she turned back to the viewscreen. “Because that was a trick question; dinner’s in the oven. Roba pie, made with nerf. Check the time for me, it should be done soon.”

“Check it yourself,” he replied. “We aren’t watching that, by the way.”

“Excuse you, Legend of the Yodulu is a classic, and yes, we are.”

Glancing up at Larec, Sharya felt a grin spread her lips.

“She’s right,” she said softly. “Even Granya likes it.”

“Oh, force,” Larec said under his breath, rolling his eyes as he tugged on her wrist to get her moving again. “I’m surrounded by people with terrible taste. Why do I do this to myself?”

Giggling, she followed him to the bedroom, where Larec threw a shirt at her when she started quoting the holofilm at him. 

After dinner, they did end up watching the end of the film, and then, despite Larec’s grumbling protest, the sequel, with Sharya curled comfortably into his side, safely opposite Naasade.

Waiting until Sharya’s breathing had slowed, and she had gone lax with sleep beside him, Larec stole the remote from the coffee table, finally able to change it from the horror film marathon Naasade had stumbled upon earlier. Flipping the channel and ignoring her annoyed look, he settled on something with soft vocals playing against a black screen. The number of stations able to reach through hyperspace was somewhat limited, but with thousands of systems to pick up, there was still a decent enough selection. 

“Well, I was watching that, but sure, I don’t mind,” she muttered before turning to face him, one leg tucked under her as she sat sideways. 

“It’s not as if you haven’t seen it before,” he said just as softly, absently petting the blonde head nestled on his thigh when she squirmed closer at his voice. 

Snorting at that, Naasade surprised him by asking, “How’s she doing?”

“I didn’t know you cared,” he answered, raising one eyebrow. “And she still has some more grieving to do, but that will take time.”

“She’s like a damned kitten,” she grumbled, glancing away from him. “All soft claws and cute threats; how am I supposed to ignore that?”

“The same way you ignored Lira, preferably.” 

“Hmph. That was less ignoring her and more being avoided at all costs, and you know it,” the mandalorian said flatly, slouching back against the couch arm. 

When he doesn’t respond, there’s a long moment of silence and Larec let his eyes close to slits, slipping into a light meditation and waiting patiently. 

_ So, are you going to share, or do I have to find a new toy to play with? _

A smirk spreading his lips, he glanced at her sidelong. That hadn’t taken long at all. “What happened to the brunette you had last month, or the other at Edithae?”

_ Off on some wild bounty in republic space, and that one didn’t care for some of my games anyway. _

_ Edgeplay isn’t for everyone, you know this. _

“And? From what I heard earlier, the kitten seems to like it just fine,” Naasade said out loud, slamming her shields shut. What happened between her and her fuck buddies was her business, so long as he didn’t stick his prick in it. 

_ If you truly wish to ‘share,’ _ he sent at last, after Naasade had begun contemplating beating him with a handy cushion for the remote; she had no problems with music, but his taste was vastly different from hers, and she could only take it for so long _ . I have no problems with it. Sharya will need to trust you if I have to leave to deal with the Jedi. Excellent work with the shuttle, by the way. _

Still grumping at him, Naasade leaned back into the couch arm, although she knew the slight smile on her lips gave her away. It had been a while since they had shared a toy, and she was looking forward to seeing how Sharya responded to her touch.

"How much longer are you going to put her to sleep like that," she asked a few minutes later, curious.

It wasn’t even half past twenty hundred yet, and the girl had been asleep since before the second team of archeologists had faced the yodulu.

“Until I no longer have to,” he replied somewhat cryptically, before shifting Sharya enough that he could slide out from under her. “Here. Make yourself useful.”

With that, Larec stood, and she scooted over to take his place as the Jedi’s pillow; one hand she curled into the thick blonde hair, scratching gently as she settled comfortably with her new lap blanket. The other, she held out for the remote. She wanted to watch the rest of the archeologists get eaten by the Mon Calamari monster, horribly written or not. Chuckling, he dropped it into her hand, leaving Naasade and a still dead asleep Sharya alone on the couch.

Maybe an hour into the next movie—decently made, despite the lack of coherent plot—Naasade’s lapful of Jedi woke. Shifting slightly, Sharya pressed a cheek against her ribs in a nuzzling motion, fingers twitching where she had grabbed Naasade’s hip at some point. Silently, she began carding the hair back out of Sharya’s still closed eyes, grinning at the way her nose crinkled before she turned back to the movie. This wasn’t a sequel, was it? That could explain what she was missing to understand this mess.

Something was tickling her nose. 

Frowning, Sharya raised one hand to swat at whatever was trying to make her sneeze, letting go of the wonderful warmth under her to do so. The Starwren’s heating systems must be working again, she thought muzzily; sometimes a funky vent over her bunk would blow directly into her face, no matter what she did to try and fix it.

Then she registered the fingers running through her hair, and that the warmth under her was moving gently, the rise and fall of relaxed breathing; she realized belatedly that she wasn’t on her little ship, and that the last thing she could remember was letting her head drop to rest on Larec’s lap sometime during the movie. 

“Master?” She asked groggily, blinking as she raised her head. 

“Sorry, mesh’la, he left halfway through Legend of the Yodulu: The Sequel,” a soft voice said. 

Squeaking at the voice—_ Naasade _ , she was laying on top of _ Naasade _, oh force, where had Larec gone?!—she stiffened in fear, breath caught in her throat. But the hand in her hair stays gentle, and the mandalorian doesn’t stop her when she can finally bring herself to move, scrambling quickly to the other side of the couch. She has to climb over Naasade’s legs to do so, for she had stretched out, back supported by the couch arm and a cushion, while Sharya had all but climbed into her lap to bury her face in the warm olive skin of her lightly muscled stomach.

“And now I need a new blanket,” Naasade sighed, but didn’t move aside from crossing her legs at the knee. “Have you seen this one? It’s ridiculous.”

Blinking from where she had curled into the opposite corner of the couch, as far from Naasade as she could get, Sharya looked up at the viewscreen; a violently glowing gundark, with two extra arms, was creeping through a cave, following a group of beings draped in climbing gear. Drool was oozing from its mouth in thick ropes as one of the hikers gradually fell behind, only to turn, an expression of shock on their face.

“They don’t even have a reason the thing is radioactive, much less why it’s mutated,” Naasade snorted. “I strongly suspect someone with more credits than sense pushed it through to production.”

She glanced back over at the woman but didn’t answer, prompting another sigh from Naasade before she shifted, pulling herself up to sit sideways on the couch. “Larec told you my job, right? That I’m head of his security?”

Chancing a small nod, Sharya forced herself to uncurl from the corner, fingers gripping tightly at the fabric of Larec’s borrowed shirt; it fell past her thighs, but he had also found her a pair of sleeping pants with a string waist when she had tentatively asked for them; the clothes were huge and loose on her, but she was covered from fingertips to past her toes, and they smelled like him. Her feet didn’t make it to the floor, but she managed to pull her legs under her instead of pressed against her chest, and lowered her crossed arms so that her hands were knotted in her lap. 

Naasade waited patiently, turning the volume down on the holofilm while Sharya got herself situated so that she could face the mandalorian, starting only when Sharya looked up at her silently. 

“A very big part of my job description is ‘Be scary,’” she said, looking Sharya steadily in the eye. “In case you hadn’t noticed, your master is already a very scary fucker.” 

She grinned at Sharya’s nonplussed expression, and continued, “So when I have to yell at his dramatic ass, I get to be just as raw as he is, but I also have to keep the pressure on the idiots working for him. If those idiots see me as anything less than just as terrifying as Larec is, then they’ll eat me alive; that’s the burden of being short, female, and in the Sith military. Backstabbing is just about currency on Dromund Kaas, and the unspoken rule is ‘the strong rule the weak.’”

“That part of the job carries over when I have to deal with prisoners.” Her face softened as Sharya flinched back at the word, voice quiet and earnest. “And that’s what my job was; be utterly terrifying for the idiot Jedi who broke into a Sith building in the middle of nowhere, Corbos, and find out why she had done it.”

_ Then it turned out she was cute as hell, especially when she came, _ Naasade thought quietly at Larec; hearing him snort in amusement, she had to hide a grin of her own. Inappropriate, inappropriate, not the right time for it. 

Because the young Jedi was gradually winding tighter at the mention of the interrogation, eyes widening and breath quickening. She hadn’t broken too horribly, but the shock was still very fresh for her; she’d been asleep for a good part of the last two days, most of her short time awake in Naasade’s company spent crying or curled in despair against Larec’s side. It was time to change that perception of Naasade before it settled into place as her primary role in Sharya’s mind, and terribly amazing sci-fi movies and creature features were the least threatening thing she could do to start re-forging that image into something trustworthy and familiar. 

It was just the same as taming any other wild animal to the hand, but this one could very easily kill her in her terror without the force inhibitor collar, and that would seriously cut into her vacation time. Also, she had seen what being brought back from the dead looked like, what it did to the person after, and wanted no part in it.

_ Is it bedtime for the kitten? _ She asked, curious as to how much time she had and shifting to be as non-threatening as possible, letting her shoulders drop and crossing her legs, one hand trapped under her thigh. From this position, she wasn’t able to lunge at the girl without flailing to free herself first.

_ Not quite. It’s doing her good. _

_ That was kinda the plan _. Out loud, she said, “Part of my job is also protecting Larec and whatever else he tells me to protect. You’re the only thing I have to protect, other than him and the Orion. So, that part of my job also becomes, ‘Protect Sharya and Larec From Dying,’ as well as ‘keep being terrifying to the minions who would happily kill me for a raise’.”

Those pretty eyes are darting back and forth across Naasade’s face, some of the fear beginning to leave her expression as Naasade keeps her shields light enough for the girl to know that she wasn’t lying. After another long, silent moment, Sharya finally takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” she muttered, before looking up at the viewscreen. “There’s an ancient celestial machine that went nuclear deep underground. If it’s the unedited version, it’s almost four hours long, they put in so much detail.”

It’s Naasade’s turn to blink at the girl as she rattled off the entire plot without skipping a beat, a grin slowly growing on her face as she watched the gundark society gather for a rebellion against the company that the hikers worked for. 

“Huh,” she finally said, turning back to watch with renewed interest. “I coulda sworn it was about the twi’lek getting fucked by the nautolan.”

_ Hey, dad, _ she started, grinning widely as she settled back; it was about time she had someone to talk movies with, especially if it turned out that they liked the same genres; she could only dissect thrillers for so long before she got bored of them. _ Can we stay up late tonight? _

That startled a laugh from Larec that she could hear from the lounge, making Sharya blink and tilt her head, confused.

_ ~finn _


	7. Orion, The Hunter (Part 2 of 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't as long as i feared it would be, but googley docs hates me. 
> 
> Sex, sex, sex, some bondage, and like the barest glaze of "BDSM 101"
> 
> Technically chapter 6 part 2
> 
> lol. glaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> always always always pee after sex, kids. do not emulate my characters, they are all filthy degenerates who don't pee after sex. 
> 
> As far as i can tell, there is no wonkiness, but let me know if you spot something funky. i been staring at this for almost an exact month, it looks the same to me.
> 
> Much love to everyone who continues to come back for terrible, dirty porn.
> 
> Sorry, Chads of the world.
> 
> 1/20/2020--re-uploaded for minor tiny plotty bits

Despite staying up so late the night before, Sharya is the first to wake up, Larec’s arm warm and heavy across her waist under the covers. Convincing herself to leave the warmth and face the ever-present chill of a ship in hyperspace to go relieve herself took a moment; she still ended up wrapped in her blanket against the cool air, even after pulling on the borrowed sleep pants she had discarded last night.

Well… She blushed as she left the bedroom, glancing back at a still sleeping Larec; the pants had been less ‘discarded’ and more yanked from her hips so that Larec could bury his face between her thighs, tongue and fingers wicked as he forced her through orgasm after relentless orgasm; he had held her down effortlessly when she struggled to pull away from his mouth, tears in her eyes as she begged for the exquisite torture to stop. He only stopped after she was shaking and horribly oversensitized, hands pinned above her head and flinching away from him, breath coming in hitching gasps; and then it was to make her ride him until she came another time, digging her fingers into his shoulders and sobbing through pleasure so sharp it hurt. He managed to wring two final orgasms from her before he finally came inside her, tightly holding her by the thigh and waist so she couldn’t squirm away; he had to resort to using the force to keep her hands behind her back when she tried to escape him again, almost unable to bear his touch at that point.

Sharya didn’t really remember going to sleep after that, having just the barest memory of the shirt being tugged back up her shoulders before warmth curled around and inside her, her master rumbling soft and pleased as she passed out in his arms.

There are too many cabinets in the galley, and she opened most of them in her search for the tea. For some reason, the tea and kaff were separated, the tea hidden above the sink, and the kaff in the sensible place in the skinny cabinet beside the cold store. Grumbling anew, she left the kaff where she found it, but tucked the tea to her chest while she waited for the water in the bigger of the two heaters to boil, staring sleepily into the distance. Naasade could make her own kaff.

The water in her nerf mug is just beginning to darken to a lovely red when a hand grabbed the hair at the back of her neck, and Sharya froze, half-asleep mind suddenly wide awake as warmth pressed against her back.

"Jedi, if you don't move from the kaff pot right now, I will hurt you," a sleep roughened voice snarled into her ear. 

Eyes narrowing, she shoved back into Naasade, knocking her into the opposite corner of the galley and letting her blanket drop to the floor. That water was for her tea, damnit!

Larec found them in the galley a few minutes later, a silently fuming Naasade held firmly against the cold store by Sharya’s force grip as she grumpily stirred sugar into her tea. At his questioning look, Sharya growls an explanation at him before leaving for the bedroom again, mug clenched tightly in her hand.

"And you thought my manners were bad," she glared at the glowering mandalorian as she spoke. 

His laughter followed her through the ship, and she felt a grin reluctantly spread her lips.

Not much later, the smell of breakfast, as well as her now empty mug, drew her back to the galley, where she finds Naasade ignoring a plate of hotcakes and bacon in favor of drowning herself in bitter smelling kaff. Larec, dressed in a pair of sleep pants but lacking a shirt, was standing over the oven, hair pulled into a partial tail as he cooked; she traced the tattoo on his back with her eyes for a moment, wondering at the strange, scratchy Sith alphabet written in the space between the dragon’s curved claws. 

Last night, before he stripped her pants off, Larec had let her trace the tattoos with her fingertips, telling her of how he had gotten the dragon—a fellow padawan had dared him to do it—but not mentioning the writing, except to say it was one of the Sith languages, and had hurt far more than the dragon.

“Some of the more traditional ways of tattooing involved knives, and ground-up pigments to color the cuts left in the skin,” he had explained patiently, chin resting on his forearms so he could watch her from over his shoulder, golden eyes half-lidded. “It’s nothing like the machines they have now, but the artist had a thing for following certain traditions, and not allowing pain meditations was a part of it.”

Turning her eyes away reluctantly, she grabbed at the box of tea again. Maybe one day she would get used to seeing those gleaming golden eyes peering at her, but she had a feeling that was far off in the distance; she was utterly fascinated by the dragon, and how it looked to have just crouched on his skin for a moment, the coils of its body seeming to shift slightly as he moved and breathed.

“Good morning again,” Larec said pleasantly, turning his head to smile at her. “Breakfast?”

“Tea,” she answered, carefully watching her mug darken to red once again. “And bacon?”

“Sit, then eat,” he answered, deftly sliding the plate of already cooked bacon further away from her sneaking hand with an amused look.

He still put hotcakes on the plate with her bacon, but it was crispy bacon, which deserved eating first. Also, Naasade’s hand was starting to creep across the table, and Sharya was still grumpy enough to be greedy about her food. 

“Mine,” she said, shielding the plate with her forearm and narrowing her eyes.

“Hmmph. I have my own, thanks,” Naasade muttered into her kaff. 

“Then why.” She stopped talking to yank the plate away from Naasade’s suddenly darting fingers, growling at the woman who smirked at her and bit down on the stolen crispy goodness with an exaggerated groan of pleasure. “Did you just steal mine!”

“Because stolen bacon is the best bacon,” the supposed elder of the two crowed, pulling her own plate away when Sharya tried to return the favor.

Sighing, Larec kept his back turned as the two women began squabbling, absently putting more bacon on to cook. Some beings just weren’t built for mornings, and now he somehow had  _ two _ of them to take care of.

Other than the almost fight over bacon, of all things, breakfast was a quiet affair, allowing him to finish the order he had begun last night, after leaving Sharya curled into Naasade’s lap. Casting one last look over the list, he nodded to himself, satisfied. It should arrive at his home in Kaas City with plenty of time to spare.

After another mug of kaff for Naasade, and yet more tea for Sharya, he managed to get both morning haters up and moving. 

It was time to see how Sharya did against an opponent instead of remotes, as well as what it took for her to touch the dark side.

—

As it turned out, once she was moving, fear subsumed by concentration, Sharya did fairly well against Naasade. It probably helped that Naasade had foregone her armor, and was almost silent except for the occasional bit of advice, a far cry from their first encounter. 

But some four and a half hours later, long after he would have suspected she could last, Sharya had yet to consciously reach for the dark side, and was still controlling her growing frustration and anger like the Jedi she had been raised as, instead of the Sith he was going to train her to be. After getting her feet swept out from under her yet again, she was finally starting to snarl at him and Naasade both; every time she had been knocked down, he had forced her to get back to her feet with a stern, “Do it again.”

The first few times she had been knocked down, Sharya hadn’t gotten up fast enough; Naasade discouraged this habit from forming by launching into her next attack as soon as the words left his mouth, going straight for the killing strike and forcing her to get up or get ‘killed’ again.

In the farthest corners of the dojo, shadows had been gathering for the past twenty minutes, the dark side called by Sharya even as she grit her teeth against the anger that was spiking her force presence. Her shields had begun slipping as well, giving him an excellent gauge of how pissed off she was, but it still wasn’t enough, and he was tired of playing nice. 

_ Provoke her. _

Spinning to turn Sharya’s latest strike against her, Naasade flicked her eyes towards him for a second.  _ Tell me you’re kidding. _

_ I’m not, _ he responded firmly.  _ Provoke her. _

_ With what! I’m trying to fuck her willingly here, not break her again! _

Taking a moment to watch as Sharya stumbled and then recovered with a roll, lightsaber snapping up to block Naasade’s vibrosword, face flushed and tight with annoyance, he considered it for a moment. 

_ She’s seen the full footage of what happened on Dantooine, _ he sent at last.  _ Mention Lira, that should trigger her. _

_ I swear, if this screws up my chances with her… _

“So,” Naasade grunted, breaking her long silence at last. “Which padawan was your sister? The one with the red hair? Or the one with the cute little ewok ears on her head?”

She said this knowing full well who Lira was, of course; the stolen Jedi had been left in Larec’s care by the Dark Council when she had proven to be a healer, and not a warrior like they had wanted. Before she had been sent to become Morgana’s newest apprentice, Lira had spent most of her time with them hiding in Larec’s bedroom, still far more afraid of the mandalorian who had dragged her screaming from her home than the Sith that had broken her hours later.

Sharya’s hand tightened on her lightsaber, knuckles whitening visibly even as she added another hand to the hilt. Suddenly dropping the point of her saber to the ground, she managed to break the bind, Naasade’s blade abruptly directed full force to the floor. Swearing in surprise, she stumbled, struggling to recover her balance in time to avoid the lightsaber cutting back towards her ribs.

“The first one you took,” Sharya finally growled, true rage cracking through to show in her eyes as she launched another attack. “Lira. And don’t talk about her.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to get to know you a little better,” Naasade smirked, eyes narrowing as she gradually shifted to a different fighting style with each parry and block. “I was right then, about the ewok ears? She was damn cute, too; she was almost as pretty as you are when she finally begged me to stop.”

It was the same fighting style that had kept Sharya thrown off balance in the temple, that she had learned from her clan, and one that Larec had helped her perfect to take down Jedi. It was subtly off from the various forms of lightsaber combat, just enough that a Jedi would be tricked into overstepping their attacks, or not dodging far enough away as they lost control of the battle. It had worked marvelously in the temple, but she had also had the element of surprise, and sonic mines, on her side at the time. 

But with each word out of her mouth, Sharya was growing angrier. When a sudden spin kick from Naasade knocked her back into a crate, Sharya grunted, but threw herself back into battle immediately, using the side of the crate as a springboard.

“Shut.  _ Up,” _ she snarled, blade slamming into Naasade’s. 

Her strikes were growing wilder as Naasade taunted her, slowly backing away; Sharya was tapping into the force, speeding her movements as she quickly forgot that she wasn’t fighting a force user, but a relatively unenhanced human. 

“Did Larec tell you what she sounded like when she came? He knows, of course,” she continued, beginning to give ground even quicker. “And so do I. You’re much prettier when you cum, though, perfect pink lips in a tiny oh-“

At that last taunt, Sharya finally snapped.

Face flushed with fury, Sharya knocked her to the floor, one hand wrapping in fabric to pin her down, the other holding the full-powered golden beam a hairs-breadth away from Naasade’s throat as she knelt on top of her.

“Shut up! Shut up about my sister, you _ bitch!!” _

Dropping her sword and not moving except to breathe, Naasade flicked her eyes towards Larec as he walked silently towards them. Shadows were spiky on the ground around them, Sharya’s shadow in particular writhing where it mixed with Naasade’s own, making her skin crawl uncomfortably.

_ Larec,  _ she sent clearly and relatively calmly.  _ Do. Not. Let your cute, idiot apprentice kill me, or I  _ will _ haunt you for the rest of your existence. _

“Sharya, hold!” 

Starting slightly at Larec’s voice, as if she had forgotten they had an audience, Sharya paused, closing her eyes as she visibly forced her shaking lightsaber away from Naasade’s throat. It was the barest twitch of movement, but she still breathed easier as the heat on her skin diminished slightly. 

Kneeling behind the panting Jedi, one hand joined Sharya’s on the hilt, drawing it further away as Larec’s other arm wrapped around her shoulders. Under his hand, Sharya was radiating such rage that her shadow was actually beginning to stretch out around her, edges ragged and the dark side nearly tangible as the urge to follow through on her attack battled with her need to appease him, to obey the order to let the woman under her blade, the woman who had tortured both her and her sister, live.

“Good job, my apprentice,” he said softly, voice a low rumble. “Now, what do you want to do with her?”

She twitched again at that, breath catching in her throat as her eyes flicked up at him; her voice was shaking and hoarse when she finally managed to speak. “What do you mean?”

“You are training to be a Sith, are you not? When a Sith wins a duel, the fate of the loser is chosen by the winner. She is yours, to do with as you wish.” He paused, glancing at Naasade. “So long as there is no permanent damage, however. I do need her in one piece.”

Sharya closed her eyes again, breathing hard. She was still shaking, still angry, and hurting, and wanting to make something hurt as much as she was. And with Larec leaning against her, telling her that she  _ could _ lash out, make Naasade feel the same bleeding wounds the mandalorian’s words had caused, even as she knew them to be true...

Gulping down a breath, and forcing her instincts—instincts currently screaming at her that this was  _ wrong _ , she  _ shouldn’t do this _ , she  _ couldn’t _ ,  _ she was a Jedi _ —into a tiny corner of her mind, she whispered, “I want her to hurt.”

“Then hurt her, dearest apprentice,” he purred, disengaging the blade at last and taking the lightsaber from Sharya’s trembling hand to place securely at his belt. Moving slowly, he then guided her to curl a hand around Naasade’s wrist, letting his fingers rest on her pulse. “Here; I’ll show you.”

_ I want a godsdamn raise _ , he heard clearly, and smirked.  _ You owe me so much for this. _

Instead of answering, he silently traced a path for Sharya to follow, showing her how to tap into Naasade’s nervous system with the dark side; her touch was light, the bond spiking with nervousness even as she followed him. The force rising higher inside her, however, was eager; eager and hungry to cause this pain, her shadow gaining more substance and creeping against him. He ignored the darkness, even as it tried to intertwine with his own shadow; she didn’t need to see that just yet.

The first taste of pain made Naasade’s fingers twitch; Sharya shivered at the twitch, and he bolstered her through their bond, reaching to help guide her along the delicate pathways again when she fumbled.

As the mandalorian began flinching, breath coming harder, she was growing more sure, violet eyes darkening as he eased back; soon, Sharya was directing the energy with only a light touch from him, increasing the agony without seeming to notice. He smiled, and pressed his teeth gently into the side of Sharya’s neck, nibbling the soft flesh and drawing a tiny gasp from her slightly parted lips, giving her subtle encouragement in the form of pleasure. Beneath their hands, Naasade jerked, gasping as she tried not to arch; she wouldn’t have gotten very far anyway; Sharya still knelt over top of her, still had the sweat-dampened shirt wrapped in one fist.

It was only when Naasade’s control finally broke on a short scream that Sharya came back to herself, trying to yank her hand out from under Larec’s as she attempted to throw herself to the side, stuttering out a shocked apology while the dark side deserted her, her shadow abruptly dormant and still on the floor. His fingers on her hand tightened when she tried to let go of Naasade’s wrist, however, and he released the side of her neck to instead nuzzle at Sharya’s hair, sending pleased reassurance down the bond.

His apprentice had all but climbed into his lap as she both tried to free and escape Naasade, and was beginning to shake against him as he glanced down at the woman; her pulse was racing beneath his fingertips, residual pain still leaking from her. Naasade ignored them both in favor of curling onto her side, legs pulled halfway up to her chest and her free arm wrapping around her middle uselessly; her breath was harsh as her eyes closed, disregarding the hands keeping one arm pinned down.

_ Ow, _ she said dazedly when he touched her mind.  _ ‘Member. You. Owe. Me. _

Rubbing his thumb soothingly where it rested against her, Larec turned his head to continue nuzzling at Sharya; her horror was slowly spilling into the force around them, horrified revulsion at what she had done, and blatant fear as to what Naasade might do to her in retaliation.

“It’s alright, Sharya,” Larec murmured into her hair, pulling her shaking form closer with an arm about her waist; he needed to distract her before her revulsion could become the seeds of self-hatred, and undermine all of his hard work. “You did well, my apprentice; so did you, Naasade.”

One grey eye flinched open at that, a soft growl escaping her. “Fuck you.”

_ Later. _

“She doesn’t care for pain,” he explained softly when Sharya’s head twitched towards him in surprise at the praise. “But I asked her to do this, to force you to touch the dark, and so she must be rewarded. Watch.”

It took but a thought to twist the remainder of the force inside Naasade to pleasure, carefully leading Sharya’s mental hands in his own to show her the specific turns needed to cause the change. The revulsion faded back slowly as she felt the echo of Naasade’s growing pleasure; as the pained frown left her brow, and her breathing deepened to soft moans, Sharya gradually stopped shaking against him. 

Eyes narrowing, Larec pulled back once again, watching his apprentice critically even as he shifted the hand at her waist to cup her breast, brushing his fingertips across her nipple. 

Her hands didn’t fumble like they had when causing pain, instead remaining steady with a growing curiosity, faltering only when she looked up at him. Violet irises were beginning to disappear into thin rings as the threads he had delicately tangled between the two continued igniting with pleasure; Naasade was feeding into Sharya feeding back into Naasade, looping back and forth, and he didn’t bother trying to resist the temptation to reach out and stroke the glowing strands, making both women gasp in unison.

_ You are a bad man, _ Naasade hissed at him, her head thumping back into the plating.  _ I know what you’re doing. _

_ And? You’re enjoying it, aren’t you? _

The mandalorian’s answer is a groan, and Sharya tried to hide her face in his tunics, beginning to pant. 

“M-master,” she gasped, fingers spasming under his grip. “W-what are—“

“Shhh,” he soothed, gripping her chin to tilt her head up. “Just relax, little one.”

She opens her mouth again, but all that escapes is a moan as he delicately bites at her windpipe, rolling her nipple before pinching the tender flesh gently. 

It wouldn’t take much to bring Naasade and Sharya to orgasm together, but he takes his time, letting the two whine needily as he backed off from their release time and again. Sharya had finally turned around to properly straddle his lap where he knelt; grinding against his hardness, arms wrapped around his shoulders, her voice was desperate as she whimpered; beside them, Naasade was still pinned to the floor, hands held firmly above her head with the force as he fondled her, running phantom teasing hands over her body and making her moan.

Ignoring his own throbbing arousal, he waited until Sharya was begging and Naasade threatening him in mando’a before giving them the last little push needed to crash over the edge, tangled tightly together. Sharya’s release flooding the bond on top of Naasade’s echoed pleasure was almost enough to undo him, but he shielded quickly enough that he only caught the very edge of it, yanking her shirt collar to the side and sinking his teeth deep into her shoulder to distract himself, an almost feral growl escaping his control.

Naasade recovered first, melting against the floor as Larec released the grip he had on her. Sharya needed another moment, head tucked under his chin, shuddering through the aftershocks of her unexpected orgasm before she flushed so hard he could feel the heat against his neck, and tried to scramble off him. Loosing a dark chuckle, he shifted his grip on her, trapping her more firmly against his chest.

“You’re not going anywhere just yet,” he rumbled before claiming her mouth in a hungry kiss.  _ You can’t just ride me like that, and expect to get away so easily, little Jedi. _

Behind her, Naasade pulled herself up onto her knees, watching as Sharya squeaked into the kiss before opening to his tongue, arms coiling back over his shoulders. 

When a hand gently fisted her hair, tugging to draw her head back, Sharya moaned, eyes closing as she followed the light pull. Larec’s teeth closed on her neck again, sucking another mark overtop the ones already there, but another mouth is pressing against her lips and she let out a second, more startled eep. Her eyes dart open to see that  _ Naasade  _ is kissing her, eyes closed and one hand in her hair, the other resting lightly on her back, helping Larec support her.

Drawing in a quick breath through her nose, she clutched at Larec’s shoulder; all the promises in the galaxy about Naasade not wanting to hurt her weren’t enough to fight with the still almost instinctive fear the woman’s touch stirred inside of her. Even after waking up with her face pressed against the mandalorian’s torso and spending half the night before watching terrible movies with her, Sharya couldn’t help but shudder at her touch; some part of her was still lost in a cell, in a containment field, a hand on her throat in a lift, helpless and ashamed and terrified. 

Naasade noticed her trembling, and released her hair, breaking the kiss and pressing their foreheads together, grey eyes steady and calm despite the thinning irises. The arms around her loosen, but Larec doesn’t stop biting her neck and collarbone, simply slows to soft mouthing at the tender bruises he’d left, rumbling soothingly to her. His hips stop moving, one hand shifting to cup the back of her thigh when she tries to curl further into him in an attempt to escape the woman’s touch.

“You’re not helpless anymore, mesh’la jetii,” Naasade murmured. “You proved that by beating my ass just now. Remember what I said my job was? Protecting you? And dealing with your dramatic ass of a master?”

“I’m not that dramatic,” came a growl from her collarbones, and Sharya wants to giggle at Larec’s deeply offended tone, but there is still anger, hurt, and fear rolling around inside her, tangling with the arousal she can feel from both of them.

“You told me to provoke her, you are dramatic as fuck and need to accept it,” Naasade said, not looking away from Sharya, her voice softening. “That was the only reason I said those things; protecting you is still my job, and I will never hurt you like that again, Sharya, I swear. Ori’haat, mesh’la jetti’ika.” 

_ I swear this is truth, beautiful little Jedi, _ Sharya finally translated in her head after a long moment of struggling; it was hard enough for her to think in basic right now, much less translate mando’a. Taking a breath, she nodded, eyes still flinching closed with fear when Naasade drew close again, despite master running a firm, calming hand down her spine, warmth spreading from the touch.

She couldn't help how she trembled when Naasade pressed their lips together again, a hint of wet sending a jolt of arousal into her; the woman’s mind was completely open to her, the hands touching her gentle and somehow unlike those same hands in the cell. A brief, not quite panicked glance into that mind revealed no sense of a lie, simply regret for her words, annoyance at Larec for making her say them, and desire; desire for Sharya and Larec both, and it didn’t seem to matter if it was one at a time or both at once, making her flush at the thought even as a tongue eased into her mouth.

And, buried deep underneath the surface of her mind, there was anger and pain and a horrible, mind-shattering grief, something old wrapped up tight and packed away in hatred.

Shrinking away from that terrible sorrow and raging hate, she accidentally bumped against the threads Larec had woven between them, making Naasade gasp, the kiss faltering for a second; forcing her right arm to let go of Larec’s shoulder, Sharya hesitantly reached out to draw the woman closer, her hand shaking only slightly. 

His chest rumbling against hers, Larec growled as she finally returned the kiss, clumsily trying to slip her tongue into Naasade’s mouth; it was awkward until she huffed through her nose and took over again, caressing her with just as much skill as her master, and Sharya moaned, heat rising inside her once more. His hands were working between them, Naasade shifting so that Sharya was leaning against her, supporting her and holding her firmly with an arm around her waist until Larec’s cock was freed; the blood flushed head was already leaking a trickle of precome that he slicked down the shaft impatiently, before tugging at her borrowed clothing.

Whether it was Larec’s hands on her, finally ripping a hole in the crotch of her leggings so he could plunge his hard length inside of her, or Naasade stealing her breath with a never-ending stream of kisses, Sharya was quickly distracted from thinking. One slender hand moved to her sex, spreading her lips open and rubbing short circles around her clit, dragging a muffled cry from her that Naasade devoured even as her own breath left her in a groan. 

If she opened her eyes and tilted her head, she could almost watch as Larec buried himself inside her; the base of his thick shaft was gleaming from how wet she was, easing his passage and even beginning to dampen his trousers. More slick was forming as she approached another orgasm, and she closed her eyes again, tilting her head to give Naasade better access to her mouth. Carefully, she reached out with the force, feeling out the pathways Larec had shown her and following the threads he had tangled around them; Naasade moaned, and Sharya whimpered, receiving a double echo of pleasure even while she ignited a fire in the other woman with the force; her bond with Larec rippled as she felt him feeling her, how tightly she gripped him, how hard he was from the sight of Sharya and Naasade locked together.

Naasade came first, hands tight on Sharya as her head bowed with a cry, and Sharya realized that he had been using the force to slide into the other woman; the threads connecting them lit up, Sharya’s grasp loosening as she ground desperately into Larec’s thrusts. Her own shout escaped her, and lightning rushed through her, forcing her back to arch and overwhelmed tears to bead in her eyes. She was still riding the aftershocks as Larec continued pounding into her, thrusts coming harder still as she clenched helplessly on him.

“Master,” she gasped, eyes shutting when fireworks went off in her head again. “Master, please…”

Because he was trapping them together a third time, making Naasade and Sharya share in his rapidly approaching orgasm, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take in such a short time; master may have driven her to a mindless, boneless huddle of shaking limbs with relentless orgasms last night, but this was different. She could feel Naasade beginning to touch herself like it was her hands on the woman’s flesh, the tight squeeze of her muscles on master’s cock, intense in a way she had never imagined, and she hadn’t even lowered her shielding that much yet.

“Yes, you can,” Naasade murmured, even though her every exhale was a shuddering moan. “You can take it, trust me, women are,” she broke off, mewling; through the threads connecting them all, Sharya felt Larec’s teeth close on Naasade’s shoulder like it was her own, and she cried out with the mandalorian. “Women are… fuck, Larec…built for this, for coming over and over.”

Her head is turned forward so master could catch her bottom lip between his teeth next, purring encouragement into her mind. Behind her, Naasade was cursing, both hands leaving Sharya’s skin before one came back, stroking her at the same time she slid fingers into herself. 

“Besides,” Naasade finally huffed, almost laughing as she bit her earlobe. “How d’ya think… humans would have survived… if women refused to have sex without… guaranteed orgasms?”

“Cloning,” Sharya answered smartly, before her mind blanked out, body shaking.

Both of them were still laughing at her response when her brain finally clicked back on, Larec bent over her even as he finished, shooting hot inside her while his huffing breath warmed her chest, shoulders shaking. Naasade had collapsed to the floor again, one hand still in her loose trousers as she giggled. Lazily, feeling herself go boneless from twitching pleasure, Sharya poked him in the shoulder; however relaxed she was, Larec was still heavy, and her spine could only bend so much.

“It wasn’t that funny,” she slurred, yawning, suddenly exhausted. 

She stayed limp as Larec adjusted her, decidedly not helping him as he shifted to slip from her with a grunt. That got her a pinch on the ass, and she squeaked before she finally moved with him, unwrapping her legs from around his hips and curling sideways into his lap. 

“Don’t be lazy,” he said, and she glanced up to see he was grinning at her, his faint annoyance from earlier this morning gone from the bond. “Being lazy doesn’t get you those orgasms you like.”

“The delivery was great,” Naasade reassured her, and she looked to the side to see that the woman was levered up on an elbow, grey eyes sparkling with humor. “You know what’s better?”

Yawning again, she tucked her head against Larec’s chest before answering, “What?”

“A nap.”

“Excellent idea,” he purred and she nodded. A nap sounded amazing.

Still floating in the afterglow of an unbelievable, tripartite orgasm, Sharya didn’t want to move. Giving him a pleading look from under her eyelashes when he shifted her again, she tried her best to look cute and innocent and exhausted; she was, but she was also very comfortable in his arms. 

“Carry me?” She asked softly.

That set Naasade off again and Larec sighed, raising both eyebrows at her, lips quirking before he dumped her to the floor. 

“Nope,” he said, standing, and hitching his trousers back up. “You’re my apprentice, and I’m not going to spoil you, no matter how cute you are.”

He did haul her to her feet and wrap an arm around her waist as they walked to the bedroom, guiding her when she decided to close her eyes and just lean against him. Naasade’s hand occasionally brushed hers on her left, at least until Sharya shyly curled their fingers together; she huffed at the contact, but did pull closer.

Sometime later, Sharya woke with her head pillowed on something soft, but without Larec’s heat against her back. Nose crinkling when something kept tickling her ear, she opened her eyes to see olive skin under one cheek, and an arm draped across her shoulders, trapping her against Naasade’s chest. The mandalorian’s eyes were closed, but she stirred a little, one hand rising to sleepily pet her when Sharya tried to move.

“Mesh’la,” she slurred, not even opening her eyes. “Go back to sleep.”

“Lemme up,” Sharya squeaked around a yawn, trying to pull away again. “I have to pee.”

“Don’t care, do it later,” is muttered rudely to her before another arm was draped across her. 

“But,” she started, only to suddenly find a tongue in her mouth. “Mph-mm.”

Groaning into the kiss, but still needing to go, Sharya reached out for Larec, finding him in the galley. 

_ Master _ , she sent, squeaking again when Naasade rolled them over, pressing Sharya to the mattress before collapsing on top of her and burying her face in Sharya’s hair, one hand tucking her head close to Naasade’s shoulder.

_ Master, Naasade won’t let me up, help! _

_ Hmm? Oh, yes, sorry about that. Naasade is a vicious sleep cuddler.  _ He paused, and then she heard an amused,  _ You are, too. _

Dismayed by the lack of concern, she wailed at him.  _ Master!! _

A hand swatting her shoulder makes her open her eyes, to see light grey squinting at her in annoyance. 

“Two words, mesh’la jetii. Volume. Control,” Naasade grumbled, burying her face back in Sharya’s hair. 

“You, uh,” she started, suddenly wondering exactly how much Naasade had been able to hear over the last day. “You heard that?”

She gets a snort as an answer, and a firm hand lands on the back of her neck, forcing her head under Naasade’s chin as she shifted to completely cover Sharya with her body, trapping her against the mattress. “Yes. You’re loud.”

“...ah,” is all she can think to say, her nose pressed into Naasade’s neck. 

When Larec walks back into the room a little while later, a fresh mug of tea in hand, it’s to find Sharya fast asleep and wrapped up in Naasade’s arms. Somehow the two were taking up well over half the bed, despite their respective, short heights. Grinning and shaking his head, Larec turned back to the galley, leaving them to sleep off the morning’s exertions.

—

Not having anything to do after her nap, since Larec had decided that he was cooking dinner and said she couldn’t help, Sharya had curled up in the lounge. Wrapped in her blanket, and wearing her sleeping shirt and another pair of borrowed leggings—Naasade had bitched at Larec for the hole he had torn in the first pair to get at her, but he had just smirked and said that he would buy her more—she tried in vain to find something to distract herself with. 

Most of the channels were from the outer rim, and thus unfamiliar to her; her little ship had excellent communications systems, but would only tune in to mid-rim and core stations; she was half hoping she could find the sci-fi channel with the horror films again, but after more than thirty minutes of channel surfing, she was having no luck. It just figured; more than a thousand systems, each with hundreds of channels, and not one of them within range was showing the classic horror movies she loved. Sighing, she finally gave up and settled on a documentary about coral reefs on some watery planet, one that had a soothing narration to go with the views of colorful fish and towering rock.

She was starting to drift off again, the bond warm in her head, when the couch dipped. Raising her head from the cushioned arm with a yawn, Sharya glanced over to see Naasade settling beside her; the mandalorian was barely clothed again, wearing a strappy sports bra, and another pair of tight bottoms that Sharya strongly suspected was actually just underwear. She was also holding a small bottle of some kind in one hand, and had an expectant gleam in her eyes.

“Give me your foot,” she demanded lightly as she got more comfortable, one leg tucked under her. 

Bemused, Sharya freed one foot from her blanket, watching curiously and then squeaking when her toes were grabbed by tickling fingers, one hand locking loosely around her ankle to keep her from escaping. Naasade grinned widely at the squeak before she stopped teasing her defenseless toes, adjusting so that Sharya’s heel was comfortably resting on her thigh. The bottle made an appearance for a brief moment as Naasade squirted something into her hands, rubbing them together before she turned back to grip her firmly, hands now slick.

The first strong passes of her thumbs along the arch of Sharya’s foot made her squeak again; aside from Larec washing the blood and grime from her that first night, no one else had ever really touched her feet. As Naasade continued manipulating her, however, she found herself relaxing, head dropping to rest on the couch arm with a tiny groan. 

Slowly, the massaging fingers worked their way up to her toes, spending the time to gently dig thumbs into the meat beneath them before gliding down to begin again at the heel. When those fingers got to the tendon on the back of her ankle, Sharya had to bite down on a soft moan; relaxation was beginning to glide from her feet upwards, pressure beginning to build inside her.

Noticing the sound, Naasade glanced up, grinning when she saw how boneless Sharya had already become. “Pressure points are good for more than orgasms, mesh’la, even though those are more fun.”

Pressure points, huh? How come Granya had never told her about these? The only ones she knew had been used to hurt, or to temporarily relieve pain; these were very quickly turning her into a puddle, even as she felt heat beginning to pool low in her stomach.

One more hard pass of thumbs along the arch of her foot, and her other leg was freed from the blanket, Sharya enjoying the massage too much to resist. Naasade’s hands returned a moment later, slicked once again by the delicate smelling lotion, and working diligently to knead any remaining tension from her via her foot. The soft undersides of her toes were still sensitive, however Naasade spared her the tickling this time, and the heat inside her continued to grow. 

She only knew Naasade was done when her blanket was tugged off her completely, and she blinked up into storm cloud grey eyes.

“C’mere,” she said in a soft purr, pulling Sharya upright to straddle one leg, her sex resting squarely on Naasade’s muscled thigh. 

She wanted to squeak at the movement, but the sudden press of warm flesh against her distracted her from her surprise, and she moaned instead, hips making an aborted roll before she could stop herself. A chuckle dragged her attention upward, to find that her hands are already clenching on Naasade’s shoulders; the woman had leaned back against the couch, angling her leg upward, just enough that a delicious friction grinds against her when fingers curl around the back of her neck, drawing her into a kiss. As Naasade broke away to murmur into her ear, more sounds escaped her, soft whimpers that made her smirk, predatory hunger spiking around them.

“Ride my leg like you rode your master this morning,” the mandalorian breathed, one hand slipping under her shirt to grip Sharya by the hip. “Don’t hold back, mesh’la; I wanna see your face when you cum again.”

Whining into the next kiss, Sharya starts moving, hesitantly at first, then with growing ease; she had to shift and wiggle until the friction was just so, blushing the whole time; legs were a lot easier to grind against, the pleasure at once sharper and duller, and utterly different than riding Larec’s cock. It wasn’t long before she was panting and shaking, almost at the peak of her pleasure, and she glanced up into sultry grey; shedding some of her shields let her know that the threads from this morning still connected them, dormant without master’s touch igniting them; it also let her know that the woman was just as aroused as she was, and somehow patient enough to wait for her own pleasure.

Grinning, she brushed against those threads, sharing her arousal, and making Naasade swear, hands clenching where she gripped her. 

“Devious little brat,” she hissed, tilting Sharya’s head up for another hungry kiss. “Your master is teaching you bad tricks.”

_ Am not, _ came a silent response from the galley.  _ Either finish now, or I’m coming for both of you. _

“Puns,” she huffed, even as she came, dragging a snickering Naasade over the edge with her. 

Lifting her head from the crook of her neck a few minutes later, she’s greeted with another kiss, tongue swiping through her lips to tease her with something savory. Chasing the taste, she moans when she slips into master’s mouth, quickly giving in when he tilted her head further. The buttons on the borrowed sleeping shirt are undone, and her breasts are grabbed in gentle hands, fingers rolling her hard nipples before wet warmth closes on one.

A soft cry escapes her; fingers and suction and tongue and teeth are sending bolts of arousal through her as Naasade gradually increased her pinching in time with her sucking mouth, until it was just this side of pleasurable, pain beginning to spike wickedly. Larec simply swallowed her cry, lips lifting in a smirk when she grasped one-handed at his tunics. Her other hand is desperately hanging onto Naasade’s shoulder, keeping her balanced between them as they both do their best to drive her insane.

Dinner almost burns that night, and is saved only by the Orion’s excellent fire suppression systems.

——

Sharya’s days on the Orion settled into something like a pattern, after that second day. 

In the morning, Sharya would wake and attempt to crawl into the teapot until caffeine had replaced a good portion of her blood by volume, while Larec cooked and Naasade drank her kaff, muttering dirty things to Sharya just to see her blush.

After breakfast, she continued demonstrating what she knew; from sparring with Naasade, who seemed to know an endless array of ways to hurt people, and whose eyes gleamed hungrily whenever Sharya managed to get the upper hand on her; up to showing and improving her fine control of the force, catching flames without killing them, shaping swirling smoke into intricate three-dimensional shapes before the smoke dissipated into the bedroom or cargo hold slash dojo. 

The most difficult thing her master had her doing was learning to see with only the force, shielding himself completely while she hunted him blindfolded; her legs were bruised for days after she tripped into the low table in the lounge. Her talent for creating maps proved somewhat useless, here; she could visualize the halls and rooms completely, but it took her three days to realize that Larec had moved everything not nailed down a good five or more centimeters over each time he made her do this. She learned it when Naasade also fell over the table during her pre-kaff ship stalking, waking Sharya up with her shouting. He had apologized for the misplaced furniture, and had then turned around and told a still yawning Sharya to go get her blindfold, grinning wickedly as his force grip began to shift the furniture. 

At least he let her get tea before he cloaked himself, although Naasade spent the rest of the day in the upper part of the ship, coming down only when Sharya had gone up to reassure the grumpy woman that everything had been put back properly. Naasade had responded to Larec’s slip by keeping her locked in the smaller bedroom for the rest of the night-cycle after dinner, learning what she tasted like and teaching her via demonstration every single pressure point that could make someone moan in pleasure. 

If Sharya and Naasade had sparred that day, Larec driving her to exhaustion against the woman, he would herd them both into the shower, where cleaning quickly turned teasing, Naasade and Larec showing and encouraging her to touch, telling the best ways to make each other weak with pleasure. More often than not, it resulted in Sharya or Naasade on their knees, or, once, sometime late in the week, a memorable occasion where they teamed up and forced Larec down in the shower, Sharya holding him still with a tentative force grip.

One eyebrow rising, Larec had looked up at Naasade and said dryly, “Oh, no. Whatever shall I do.”

Shifting from where she had straddled his chest after knocking him to the shower floor, she waved Sharya over, ignoring the water dripping into her eyes.

“You can stop with the sarcasm, for one,” she answered, curling a hand into Sharya’s hair and pulling her down for a kiss. 

“Now,” Naasade purred once she broke away, eyes half-lidded. “Hold him down, and don’t let him go.”

Mouth drying, Sharya glanced at Larec; he sighed, but there was a wry acceptance in the golden eyes looking back at her, as if he had fully expected Naasade to pull something like this, and one hand twitched.  _ Go on, Sharya.  _

Permission granted, she gasped when Naasade grabbed her by the throat, fingers gentle; she fumbled a little, but soon her force grip was holding master down by the shoulders. Sharya moaned as Naasade’s hand tightened, pulled down to her knees while another sloppy kiss was pressed to her panting mouth.

“I should have known you liked a hand around your throat, mesh’la,” Naasade whispered, kissing her cheeks and forehead. Sharya’s hand was beginning to spasm where it rested lightly on the mandalorian’s wrist. “The pretty ones are always the kinkiest, and you are. So. Damn. Pretty.”

Her voice a breathy rasp, she whimpered. “Please, Naasade…”

Because the second time they had sex together, Sharya had realized that her begging made all three of them a little wilder; Naasade’s eyes gone dark with lust, her hands turning fierce and possessive on her; Larec would growl, turning more animalistic, and biting her flesh unrepentantly, leaving dark, tender bruises in the shape of his teeth, and Sharya would grow even wetter, her orgasms more intense the more she pleaded; the words she used were almost the same as when she had begged them both in the cell, but somehow, instead of throwing her into a panic when she said them, want and need simply knotted tighter inside her.

Waiting until stars were bursting behind her eyes, Naasade didn’t release her, but dragged her closer, devouring the tiny sounds she made as pressure built inside Sharya. She only let go when Sharya’s fingers started to go limp on her, eyes slipping closed with a near-silent whine; a heartbeat later, she curled into Naasade, shaking as a fierce orgasm rolled through her almost immediately, body jerking helplessly. 

She still hadn’t fully recovered when Naasade guided her by the shoulder to hesitantly wrap her legs around the Sith’s head, riding his face until she came a second time, his hands locking around her ankles to keep her in place as he mercilessly lashed her with his tongue. She could feel Naasade’s hand wrapping around Larec’s cock behind her, the bond echoing with pleasure as she gripped the head, clever fingers stroking the stiff length and making him snarl beneath her.

“Pull his hair,” she hissed into Sharya’s ear, teeth biting at the curve of her neck. “Why do you think he keeps it so long?”

Cautiously wrapping her fingers around the dripping strands, Sharya tugs lightly, watching breathlessly as his eyes slip shut with a soft groan. Pulling harder makes him growl, one hand moving to clench on her thigh as he sucked on her clit for a long moment, making her back arch with a cry.

Naasade’s hand gripping her hair, tilting her head to meet in a slow, deep kiss, forced Sharya to carefully scramble around on her knees to face her, shifting so that her legs still bracketed her master’s face. Naasade had straddled Larec, riding him with lazy rolls of her hips, and she moaned at the sight, her own hips jerking when teeth scraped across sensitive flesh. Her eyes drop closed, and she opened her mouth to Naasade’s questing tongue, one hand spasming where it rested against Larec’s chest.

They rocked together, Sharya and Naasade taking control from him until he tired of it, and forced Naasade to her knees, his hand shoving her head between Sharya’s thighs as he pounded into her, golden eyes narrowed in satisfaction while they both gasped for breath, his force grip tight on their throats. He kept Sharya’s hands pinned above her head, but leaned forward to slip his tongue into her mouth, devouring her gasping cries as his hands tightened on Naasade’s hips.

Tasting herself on him makes her groan, and Naasade’s mouth on her, just as knowing as Larec’s but far more wicked, works her into a bucking frenzy. Trying to pull away and at the same time pushing closer, the two drive her to a shrieking release that she loops directly back into them, gleeful when Naasade’s pleasured scream vibrates against her and Larec’s hips stutter, golden eyes clenching shut as he snarled.

Her glee dies when Larec forced her to share his release, extending it until he had dragged her, screaming hoarsely, through another orgasm, Naasade slowly and teasingly licking the slick from between Sharya’s legs and extending her torture. 

Sharya couldn’t move after that, and Larec laughed at her dazed expression before carrying her to the bed for an impromptu nap.

—

Her third day on the Orion, Larec added a different sort of lesson after lunch, locking them in the darkened bedroom and lighting a long stick of incense.

Settling on his knees across from her, Larec was silent for a long moment, eyes closed and the bond calm between them. The incense was beginning to scent the room in lazy grey swirls of smoke, and Sharya drew in a deep breath; it was the same smell that had clung to his robe in the cell, the one that had helped to calm her panic in the days since. The familiar scent relaxed her further, calming the nerves beginning to twist her stomach into knots, and she took another breath, telling her hands to stop their trembling before it became noticeable.

“Tell me, Sharya,” he said softly, without opening his eyes. “What is the Jedi code?”

“There is no emotion, there is peace,” she began, wondering where the words had disappeared to when she had needed them the most; she hadn’t been able to remember them in the cell, or the cell block, terror stealing the long memorized mantra from her. “There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.”

Nodding as she finished, he opened his eyes, gold glowing softly in the half-light of the room. 

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength,” Larec recited, the words sounding like an off-echo of the code she had heard for most of her life. “Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.”

“That is the Sith code,” he continued. “In direct opposition to the Jedi code, which speaks of no emotion, no passion, and absolute detachment, the Sith embraced passion, and the emotions inherent in every living being. By claiming their emotions and harnessing that passion, they gained strength, in the force and in themselves.

“In some ways, both codes are right, and in others, glaringly wrong. Some Sith give their passions too much free rein, thinking that they are excused from having restraint, simply because they have power. Some Jedi go too far the opposite way, and become so detached from the galaxy that they lose the thing that made them Jedi in the first place, thinking themselves above the concerns and conflicts that surround them.”

Sharya had nodded reluctantly at his quiet words; she knew Jedi like that, and had almost instinctively avoided them; they seemed cold, and slightly  _ wrong _ to her, even though they had been praised in the Order for their devotion to the code. Granya had never forced her to interact with them, but hadn't understood her reluctance. She knew now that her empathy, buried under years of subconscious shielding, had been directing her away from those Jedi, and wondered how much better off she would have been if her empathy had been allowed to grow without interference.

"A true Sith is not controlled by their passions, but is guided and strengthened by them; they do not seek to feel nothing, but to understand their emotions, and use them the same way one would use any tool.”

“When we left Edithae, you said you were afraid. Tell me why.”

Blinking at that, Sharya took a moment simply to breathe, trying to find the words to explain her fear. It was easy, in a way, but also surprisingly difficult; she almost didn’t want to say them, because to say the words out loud would make her fears real.

“Because I can’t come back from this,” she answered, just as softly. “Because the dark is… dark. And. And I don’t know if I made the right choice.”

“The right choice, according to the Order?” His voice was still carefully neutral, no hint of the usual scorn she heard when he spoke of the Jedi order, or the council.

Shaking her head, she couldn’t keep looking at him, looking down at her hands, and then at the floor when she realized she was wringing them together and didn’t know how to stop. “According to me.”

“I don’t know what I’m getting into.” She dared to glance up at him, just for a moment, before she dropped her gaze back to the floor, swallowing nervously. “Everything I’ve been taught, everything I’ve learned… Sith are evil. The dark side is evil, that anger and hatred, and, and fear, that once you feel them, once you give into them….. you’re damned.”

“And what about love?”

She’s startled into looking back up, confused. “What about love?”

“You love your sister, your mother, even Granuille, and you should. But you are also angry at them.”

“No, I’m not,” she started to say, until Larec’s eyes flashed in the dim, flaring like embers and she bit her tongue. 

“Sharya, do not lie to me, or to yourself,” he said, a slight edge to his words. “Lies create weaknesses, and I will not allow you to purposefully weaken yourself.”

Voice calmer, he asked again. “Why are you angry, Sharya.”

Feeling her eyes narrow, she fixed her gaze on a point above Larec’s shoulder. The bond was flaring in her mind, and she stomped on her fear. He had asked, she was going to answer. 

She was also going to pray that he didn’t lash out at what she had to say, his anger still fresh in her mind.

“You made me fall.” Flinching even as she said the words, Sharya still felt a knot in her chest tighten. “I’m never going to see Ossus again, my home again, or the woman who raised me, because if I go back, they’ll kill me.”

“You began to fall the moment you decided to seek revenge for Lira, the same moment you decided to kill the person who took her. Do not blame your fall on me.”

“But you stole her.” She was faintly surprised by the snarl in her words, but continued anyway. “You and Naasade stole her from Dantooine, and if you hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have fallen!”

“You are still blaming me for  _ your _ choices.” 

How was he so calm? How could he sit there and say that this was her fault, when he was the one who had invaded the Dantooine enclave, the one who had made her sister fall, made her fall?

“I was just trying to find her!”

“Why.”

Mouth dropping open, Sharya was speechless for a moment. Rage was beginning to coil inside her, rage at his insistence that he had nothing to do with her fall, and she bit her tongue to keep from snarling at him, instead forcing herself to speak as calmly as she could.

“Because,” she started. “Lira is the only family I have left, and I love her.”

“We’ve gone over that. Give me another reason.”

The force grabbed her when she tried to stand, keeping her on her knees, and she finally snarled at him, her formerly wringing hands clenching into fists. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Not until you’ve told me why you are angry.”

“Besides you stealing my sister and making me fall?” She asked, acid dripping from her words. “Fine. I don’t know.”

“Lie. Try again.”

Unable to come up with a reason she hadn’t already stated, she stayed silent, trying her hardest not to glare at the Sith. She knew there was a reason he was doing this, but she couldn’t figure out where he was going; love didn’t belong to the dark side, it was part of the light, every initiate knew this. Compassion, kindness, protecting the weak, defending the helpless, that was what Jedi  _ did _ , even as they strove not to form attachments or give in to the temptations of using the force for personal gain.

“‘There is no ignorance, there is only knowledge’ indeed,” he snorted, eyes narrowed at her silence. “Ignorance is a weakness, knowledge is a strength, strength is power, and I will not allow you to be this ignorant or weak. Why are you angry.”

He kept asking, over and over, and every time she tried to stand or look away from him, the force would hold her still, keep her looking into calm golden eyes, and she was starting to hate it, to hate him. Why was she angry, why, why, why—

“Because she left us!” 

Chest heaving, ears ringing, she didn’t notice when she had broken the hold he had on her and gotten to her feet, only that she was so angry, trembling with it, and wanting to scream and cry and lash out, because—

"Mom said she loved us, but she left us so that she could die on that damn ship, and she said she would never leave us!!”

The room is ringing with her scream and she should be afraid, afraid of making him angry enough to strike back at her, but she doesn’t care. Tears were running down her face, from rage and grief that she thought she had worked through long ago, or at least buried deep enough that it couldn’t hurt her anymore. 

“And now you can understand my first lesson,” Larec said at long last, voice soft. 

He hadn’t moved from where he knelt in front of her, his end of the bond still almost infuriatingly calm while she was struggling not to fall apart.

“Love can be just as brutal, and just as dark as hatred. Does that make it part of the light, or the dark?”

Deflating, head dropping so she could cover her eyes while she sobbed out the pain, she shook her head. “I d-don’t know...”

Sinking back to the floor, she buried her face in her hands, flinching at the touch of his hand on her shoulder.

“Emotions by themselves are neither dark, nor light, Sharya,” he told her. “If they could be neatly divided by good and bad, the galaxy wouldn’t function, because every being would be torn apart by the conflict of trying to remain ‘good’ all the time. Anger can be used to focus, love to protect, fear to teach caution; hatred can create strength of will and determination, just as easily as it can destroy.”

“That is what the Jedi don’t understand, and what the Sith know to be true. That is what I will teach you, my Jedi, my apprentice.”

—

"Mesh’la! Galley, now."

Startled into waking, Sharya blinked up at the ceiling for a moment, not moving from where she was curled into Larec, her head pressed snugly against his chest. He didn't seem to mind how she kept using him as a pillow, but she still blushed as she pulled away. After driving her to scream at him, breaking something inside her even as something else began healing, he had all but carried her to the bed, where she had pressed against him while he carded a hand through her hair, letting her sob out the long-buried pain of losing her mother once again.

Strangely, she felt better after the screaming, and the crying, but she didn’t want to examine that feeling just yet; that could wait until she could stand to meditate again.

“You heard the lady,” he chuckled when she asked him what Naasade had said. “Get in the galley, she’s been busy.”

_ Busy doing what,  _ she wondered, but stood, stretching as she headed for the kitchen. A smack on the ass as she left the bedroom made her blush again, casting a look back at Larec; aside from a slight smirk, he didn’t glance up from what he was reading, seemingly absorbed in his book, something old and bound in leather; absently, she wondered what grudge her master seemed to have against datapads, and then stuck her tongue out at him.

When she gets to the spacious—for a ship—galley, she’s surprised by the warm, sweet smells coming from it. A peek around the corner shows that Naasade was the source of the scent, and also the stack of dishes leaning precariously in the sink. Making a face at the towering cookware—she was finally allowed to help in the galley, but she was also given the dirty job of washing the dishes—she’s distracted by Naasade’s arm curling around her waist and lips pressing against hers. A little surprised, Sharya tilted her head and clutched at Naasade’s floury shirt, eyes closing. 

A soft nip at her bottom lip, and her mouth opens, fully expecting the kiss to deepen. 

She chokes when something soft and crumbly is placed between her lips instead, biting down on grainy-sweet-rich. Bewildered, she opens her eyes to see Naasade grinning at her, a brown smudge across one cheek. Carefully, she takes the thing from her mouth, absently beginning to chew. 

Sharya paused. Then her eyes slipped closed, and she moaned, swallowing the mouthful of heavenly goodness.

“I take it you’ve never had chocolate, have you,” Naasade laughed, leaning to steal the remaining bite of brown crumbly thing and licking Sharya’s fingers clean while she was at it. The brown stuff had already begun melting in her hand, leaving smears across her fingertips.

“What’s chocolate,” she asked, already eyeing the treat strewn counter for more. Naasade had been baking for a while, apparently; where there wasn’t a mixing bowl, spoon or empty cooling rack, there was a neatly filled container of some kind.

“A gift from the gods, mesh’la jetii. It’s in the cold store, by the way.”

Turning around, Sharya dug immediately into the cold store behind her, yanking the container of ‘chocolate’ and running back to the bedroom, giggling at Naasade’s surprised curse. 

“You better not eat all of those, or I’ll kick your ass!”

Larec managed to eat the last one two days later, cheating by stealing the near-empty container from Sharya’s hands with the force and holding it above his head. Sharya and Naasade responded by pinning him down to the bed, Sharya’s mouth around him while Naasade tried to steal the container back.

It didn’t work very well, but as Sharya licked the cum from her lips, Naasade leaning down to finish kissing the taste from her mouth, she found she didn’t mind.

—

_ Dinner is cancelled, _ Larec suddenly purred into her mind, and Naasade blinked.

“Why,” she asked, out loud and in her head, not looking up from the console in front of her. 

They had been taking mini jumps for the past four or five days to lose track of any followers from Corbos, and had ended up somewhere out near Boonta. It may have been a tad excessive, even for her paranoia; but paranoia was fully justifiable when a full team of Jedi could be coming to take their own still broken and still healing Jedi from them. That had been the reason to get off Edithae so quickly in the first place, after all, and she wasn’t going to screw this up by not being paranoid enough.

_ We’re having dessert first. _

That piqued her interest, but she still needed to input these coordinates; some hyperspace routes were best remembered than saved in the navicomp.  _ Ok, then what’s for dessert? _

_ A cute little apprentice that finally got into the toy chest. _

It didn’t take her long to enter the last set of numbers and then slap the navicomp autopilot on her way out of the cockpit. The ship would do the calculations for her, and then punch for lightspeed, while she got to enjoy a very delicious dessert indeed.

In the master bedroom, a shirtless Larec already had Sharya half-naked, one lined leather cuff on her visible wrist as she swallowed his cock, her hips working against his thigh raggedly; she still had trouble concentrating on her own pleasure when she had to choose like this. He had one leg bent at the knee, the other stretched out so Sharya could grind against him, her sleeping shirt entirely unbuttoned and hiding most of her from view; she was beginning to make the cute moans that meant she was halfway to an orgasm, hips losing their shoddy rhythm completely as the door slid open. Smirking wide as a lothcat at her when he looked up, Larec pulled himself up onto his elbows, tangling his fingers in curly blonde hair to pull her mouth free of his flushed head, standing proudly from his open fly.

“Show her,” he murmured, eyes gleaming mischievously as he turned her to face Naasade. “She’s just as bad as I am, little Jedi, you know this.”

Cheeks flaming, Sharya shifted so that she could see not only both cuffs on her wrists, but also a leather harness that should have been upstairs in her room. Letting the shirt drop behind her revealed Sharya’s ankles wore leather as well; that cute flush continued down her neck, the combination of leather straps and blushing skin drawing her attention to Sharya’s breasts, where Larec had already left teeth marks. 

Or maybe those were the ones she had made the other day. It was hard to tell, since they both liked biting.

Naasade couldn’t purr quite like Larec, but she could damn well pull off a predatory slink as she idly tugged off her shirt, leaving her standing in the sports bra and boy shorts she preferred to wear when confined to a ship. Why she had even bothered to wear a shirt today, she had no idea. “And how bad am I being today, my lord?”

While Larec had done wonders on curing some of Sharya’s terrors from Edithae, some things for the girl were still off-limits; Naasade pinning her to a wall for the first time had resulted in a black eye, tears, and Sharya retreating back into herself for the rest of the day; she hadn’t hidden herself away in the bedroom, but she had shied away from her touch, preferring to curl up at Larec’s side. At least Sharya had decided that breath play was a kink, and a good one; she would go utterly limp if Larec’s hand was on her throat, eyes fluttering closed as she whimpered. Naasade wasn’t getting quite that reaction yet, but she whined needily if she didn’t hold her down long enough, and that counted as a success in her book.

_ This isn’t dessert, this is straight-up ori’skraan, _ she thought, licking her own lips as she reached the side of the bed.

Still silent except for soft panting, Sharya glanced between them, squeaking softly when she reached out to trace the leather snugged against her skin; it was indeed one of her harnesses, the leather carefully worked into a buttery softness; even the tiny loops connecting the thing together along her sternum, before splitting down from her waist to hug her thighs and the cheeks of her ass were silky from her care; keeping those straps in place, Naasade knew, was another pair that inadvertently kept the wearer’s labia spread if tightened enough, wrapping around the join of leg to pelvis. The upper part of the harness had a large central ring just under her collar bones, gathering the straps that framed Sharya’s breasts, before buckling securely at the back in multiple places. It was a bitch to put on alone, so Larec had to have helped strap her into it, and she felt her eyes dilating with excitement, heartbeat picking up at the same time.

Depending on what Sharya was willing to try, Naasade knew any number of things one could do to someone in this harness without crossing her boundaries. 

One last glance at Larec from the delicious Jedi prompted a soft, amused rumble, and his eyes to glow brighter. “Use your words, Sharya.”

Sharya blushed even harder at that, but her eyes darted back up from where they had dropped to the floor. Waiting patiently, she continued following the path of black leather against pale skin with her fingertips. This was a work in progress, as well, to get her used to asking instead of them taking. They may have broken her, but Naasade wanted a toy that wouldn’t easily break under her hands again, and Larec wanted his apprentice, and so they were being as easy as possible with her, rebuilding her from the broken Jedi she had been.

“I want… Biting,” she whispered softly, before dropping her eyes again. “And pinning, and...”

Taking pity on her easily embarrassed kitten when she couldn’t continue, who still didn’t know how to ask for what she wanted, Naasade curled a hand around the front of her throat, tilting her head back up so she could stare into those wide, lust darkened violet eyes. Leaning close, she brushed her lips against Sharya’s in a soft, slight kiss; a tiny gasp escaped her, pink lips parting. 

“How about this,” she purred, pressing lips against her forehead in another butterfly kiss. “Show me.”

Gulping, she nodded, hesitantly tilting her face at Naasade’s gentle urging, mouth opening with a little moan. 

She may have been shy when trying to verbalize her wants, but when it was the brush of their minds against hers, she was bold as you please, and Naasade felt a groan of her own escape into Sharya’s mouth.

“Oh, kitten,” she breathed, pulling away even as her grip tightened, easing her dirty-minded mesh’la jetii back against the bed, where Larec had already scooted into position, still smirking. “You want me to be  _ very _ bad indeed.”

Eeping even as she accepted the cock Larec brushed against her lips, Sharya couldn’t stop a shiver of delight as Naasade bowed to take her nipples into her mouth, hand still firm on her throat. She was almost able to take all of master’s length, now, even though her gag reflex couldn’t let her enjoy it; it turned out that she liked the noises Larec made as she went down on him, enough that she would ache from sucking him, getting wet enough for him to easily slide three strong fingers inside her within moments of that first soft groan or rumble. 

Naasade’s noises made her moan as well, but right now it was the way that Naasade was sucking her nipples, and showing excellent coordination by also stroking along her bared, open slit even as she kept her hand tight on her throat, that was making her moan around Larec, eyes closed. He was gripping the metal loops of the cuffs at her wrists, keeping her pinned to the mattress with one hand, the sheets rumpled and grounding at her back; there were straps along the frame of the bed, and she wanted to see if she went into a panic attack, or if she would be able to disassociate the soft cuffs and being tied down and helpless from the cell enough to enjoy it. 

Because Larec had found her poking in the chest at the foot of the bed, flushing as she looked at the cuffs she had pulled from it; she had lowered her shields out of curiosity, trying to see if the enjoyment she had felt had been forced in any way, and had looked up to see Larec leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and golden eyes glowing with interest.

The sense memory of being locked into binders made her hesitate before she had let Larec fasten the cuffs to one limb at a time, explaining the whole while about kinks, and that yes, the average humanoid psychology was very weird when it came to sexual proclivities. When a casual touch to her sex as he spoke proved that cuffs somehow hadn’t made it into the list of things that made her panic, that she was slick from just the soft embrace of leather on wrist and ankle, the Sith had let out a pleased growl, tumbling her backwards to bend her in half as he slid effortlessly into her.

The addition of the harness, and the way it made her feel covered even as it left her horribly exposed had slicked her again, and Larec had called down Naasade, a grin on his face as Sharya sucked him back to hardness, his cum still running down her inner thighs. 

That had been at least three orgasms ago; a second for Larec, spilling into her once again, and two for Naasade, Sharya’s tongue exploring and tasting the other woman as she straddled her face, a hand in her hair keeping her tilted perfectly for Naasade to grind against. The straps along the bedframe held Sharya almost still; she was able to buck a little, and grind and arch up, but she couldn’t wiggle free. Something about knowing that master would release her at the first sign of fear, or Naasade’s carefully phrased questions to make sure she was enjoying herself, was keeping her from the still close panic, even as they teased her. 

Aside from Larec coming inside her, and Naasade’s fingers stroking her at the beginning, her sex had been almost entirely ignored, and she was ready to cry, even though she had wanted something like this. At least they kept touching the rest of her; hands gripping her breasts and hips, caressing her while teeth tenderly bit at her inner thighs, and stomach and hips, their lips and tongues soothing the hurts even as Naasade and Larec left more marks on her skin, using her for their own pleasure.

Naasade was getting wetter under her tongue, hips working harder as she moaned, and Sharya whimpered; Larec had ordered her not to touch the threads connecting them, but she  _ wanted _ . 

Tugging against the hold in her hair, whining desperately, she glanced over at where he was watching from the leather chair next to the bed, idly stroking himself back to hardness for a third time; she wanted him inside her again, even through the mess of his first two orgasms. 

“Uh-uh,” Naasade managed to gasp out, grinning when Sharya’s attention wandered from the clit at her tongue to the Sith next to them. “It’s my turn, not his. You look at me.”

Lust dark eyes snapped back to look pleadingly up at her instead, and Naasade rewarded her by reaching behind her to cup Sharya’s neglected, cum-and-slick drenched pussy, prompting her to cry out and buck up into the touch. 

“There’s my good kitten,” she panted, giving the tender flesh under her hand a gentle slap, just enough to make her jump and arch. “Just a little more, hmm? And then I’ll make you feel so good.”

A sob escaped her when her hand returns to clutch at Sharya’s bicep, Naasade using the grip to stay balanced; her feet and calves were tucked behind Sharya’s shoulders, knees bracketing her head as Naasade continued riding her face. Movement draws her to look at Larec, grin turning wicked. Oh, the wonderful things one could learn from Jedi; the bond between the two meant that she could touch one and still tease the other, the touch echoing through metaphysical means that she didn’t care to understand; all she knew was that her hand cupping Sharya for that brief moment had finally made Larec stand, reaching out to grab Naasade’s hair and drag her close for a demanding kiss, growling when she bit his tongue. 

Beneath her, Sharya shivered, moaning. 

“How do you want her to cum, my lord,” she purred when he went to sink his teeth into her neck. “Your apprentice has… ooh, mm… Ea-arned it, ahn. Fuuuck, kitten.”

Because the mouth on her has just started applying careful, light suction to her clit just the way she likes, and when she opens her eyes again, Naasade isn’t surprised by the wicked gleam in those gold depths, or how a hand is suddenly cupping her own sex, fingers slipping past her lips to force her backwards so he could climb onto the bed. She’ll huff at him later for pulling her away from Sharya’s mouth this way, but he had just found her g-spot with clever fingers and was forcing her into an orgasm that had been this side of lazy and was now frantic with need. He had also apparently tied her and Sharya together again; the girl was crying, and Naasade was close to sobbing, too, half falling off of her so Larec could properly fingerfuck her from the head of the bed while he slid home into Sharya’s mouth. 

Which reminded her; not to be outdone, Naasade reached back for her kitten, fumbling in the slick until she found a throbbing clit and stroking in time for as long as she could concentrate, finally making Sharya shriek out her long-delayed release around Larec’s cock.

“With you,” was the last she heard, and when she came back to herself, an indeterminate amount of time and possible orgasms later, it was to see a soft smile on Larec’s face as he freed Sharya from the straps on the other side of the bed; an idle glance proved that he had already cleaned the mess from between her thighs, a damp washcloth lying carelessly on the nearer of the two nightstands. He had kept the cuffs on her, but from the way Sharya was drooping bonelessly in his arms as he tucked her under the covers, she had passed out from the pleasure; she might not even notice, much like she wouldn’t notice that she was still wearing the harness until she woke up.

She hoped Sharya didn’t mind another round later; that harness did wonderful things to her libido, especially on such a shy, dirty-minded young woman.

“You,” Naasade mumbled, not moving except to lazily stretch out and snag the washrag for herself, finding a second waiting beneath the first and using that instead to clean the half-dried streaks of her own mess. “Are a bad man… using the special bond... Between women like that. You should be ashamed.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, smile shifting to a smirk as he looked up at her. “Get under the covers.”

“You’re also a liar. Lying Sith don’t get chocolate no-bake cookies,” she declared firmly, but managed to roll under the blankets when Larec lifted them for her to join the cuddle pile, dropping both washcloths onto the floor.

Still out of it, Sharya glommed onto her the moment their skin touched, one arm curling over her waist as the blonde head snuggled against her breast, and Naasade felt a smile of her own tilting her lips. 

“Good kitten,” she said in an orgasm drunk slur, running her fingers through thick, silky hair. “Very good kitten. Bad master.”

There’s rumbling laughter from Larec, but Naasade flipped him off before stealing the pillow out from under his head as he laid down. Her pillow now.

—

“Well,” Naasade said at last, glancing from the planet in front of them back to the instrument panels for the navicomp. “That’s not Dromund Kaas.”

Looking over her shoulder out of the view screen, one hand on her as he leaned down to squint at the blue planet that was the wrong shade of blue, Larec nodded in agreement. “Nope. Might want to fix that.” 

“Ya think,” she snarked at him, already inputting the coordinates again. This time, she didn’t have a sexy kitten dressed only in leather to distract her, and the numbers went in correctly. “We wanted to go the scenic route anyway, right?”

“Apparently,” he replied blandly. “What planet even is this?”

Another glance at the navicomp, and she had the answer. “Chad. What the hell kind of planet is named Chad?”

“It is reminiscent of the name of a drunk, over-entitled Core worlder at a cantina, isn’t it?”

“You said it, not me,” she said, chuckling, and double-checking her numbers this time before turning the nose of the Orion to face the outside edge of the system. 

They had soon left Chad the Drunk Coreworlder behind, and Larec and Naasade wandered back downstairs, Larec to shower and shave the stubble from his face, and Naasade to wake their Jedi from yet another master-enforced nap. He hadn’t been doing it as often in the last day or two, but she was also far less likely to freeze, panic, or lose herself to depression than she had been when they first stepped onto the ship. 

Her little fuck up with the coordinates had added nearly three more days to the journey back to Dromund Kaas, but that was alright; they had plenty of things to distract themselves with, and only some of it was pirated holofilms. Sharya had definitely enjoyed the harness, from the way she had simply tugged her borrowed sleep shirt on over it for the rest of the day-cycle, and Naasade wanted to see if they could get her back into it. Maybe she’d left them use the cuffs again, too; that much strappy black leather against pale skin made  _ such _ a delicious contrast.

—

A soft shuffling noise drew Larec’s attention from his datapad, and he paused the newsfeed he had been scanning, glancing up to see a walking lump disguised as his apprentice stumble into the galley, her plush, soft green blanket draped over her head like a cloak; the edge of one of his tunics was just visible under the blanket, black inky against pale thighs.

“Sharya?” 

The sound she makes in response doesn’t qualify as speech, and he smiled, lifting his arm so she could snuggle against him, breathing deepening back into sleep as soon as she stopped moving. Across from him, Naasade barely glanced up from inhaling black as space kaff, but he felt her bare foot shift to rub soothingly against Sharya’s calf.

He never thought he would have to deal with  _ two _ morning intolerant people, but here he was, and he turned back to his datapad, not bothering to hide his grin. Since Naasade would be functionally useless until well into her second mug, he used the force to measure out his apprentice’s sugar with tea added, placing it in front of her blanket-covered head to lure her off his lap.

It only takes a few minutes before Sharya is poking her head above the table, one hand groping after the mug blearily.

“I told you not to finish that bottle, didn’t I,” he asked softly, chuckling when she moaned at him to be quieter. “Are you sure you know how to filter with the force?”

“Forgot,” she mumbled, one eye slitting open to glare half-heartedly at Naasade. “Distracted.”

Pulling her nose out of her mug, the mandalorian smirked; last night, Naasade had introduced Sharya to the concept of high powered vibrators during a drinking game. He had chosen to read instead of killing his brain cells watching the horrible holofilm they had chosen, sitting back with a good whiskey, and egging them on from the bedroom while he read a mystery novel pulled from the shelf. Revenge of the Were-Wook Part Two was not something he wanted to waste his time on.

After coming to bed late in the night, Sharya had fallen asleep almost before her head hit the pillow, drunk from too many orgasms and far too much tihaar and CoruscanTeas. While she slept, he had pinned a pliant, equally drunk Naasade to the mattress and fucked her slow in the ways she didn’t normally allow, gentle where she usually craved violence; soft, easy kissing, hands caressing lovingly while she moaned and sighed around him, their hips working languidly together.

Tucking Sharya’s head under his chin, he pressed a kiss to her hair, drawing on the force to ease the moon-sized hangover she was suffering from. He had already done it for Naasade, might as well not make his apprentice suffer alone. She could always learn that particular lesson later.

“Sorry, next time I  _ won’t _ introduce you to the wonders of modern sex toys while drinking,” she said smugly, before her voice dropped to a silky purr, gaze going heated. “I’ll just wait until we’ve got you tied to the bed again, with that gag you like so much in your pretty little mouth.”

Beside him, Sharya’s breath caught in her throat, the bond lighting up with sudden desire. 

“Would that work better for you, mesh’la jetii,” Naasade finished softly, smiling.

Sharya had to clear her throat, but she managed to squeak out an answer.

“Yeah, yes, that, that would probably be better,” she stammered, squeezing her thighs together. 

The image alone was almost enough to make her inner walls clench with lust, but her hangover was still fading, despite the continued warmth tingling in her skull. Further exploration had proven that she also liked her mouth held open by a soft, silicone ring gag that slipped behind her teeth, one that allowed Larec and Naasade to use her how they wanted; it probably wouldn’t take much, if any, convincing to let them strap her to the bed again, especially if Naasade used that same wand on her while master used her mouth…

Larec was rumbling at her, and Naasade was eyeing her like she knew  _ exactly  _ what was going through Sharya’s head, and,  _ oh fuck _ .

Squeaking out an apology, she abandoned her tea to duck under Larec’s arm as they both laughed at her. She  _ still _ blushed when they caught those thoughts, and it had been almost two weeks since they had left Edithae behind them. She thinks. She had yet to see a single chrono this entire time, and it was hard for her to even tell what day it was at this point, what with all of her surprise naps and the sex distracting her so throroughly. The vidscreen didn’t help either; it turned out that none of the available channels were newsfeeds, as they were all pirated entertainment channels, or ones that were primarily documentaries

“Well, I know the first thing we’re doing when we get home,” he finally said in a low rumble, tilting her head up for a promising kiss. “Remember to filter next time, or you’re dealing with your own hangover.”

“Yes, Master,” she sighed, finally taking her tea mug back in her hands again. “Are we almost there?”

Leaning back in her chair, Naasade’s smile widened. “We’ve been in orbit for two days, Sharya. Haven’t you noticed?”

Making a face at that, she took a sip before saying primly, “Nope, been distracted.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Larec said lightly, ruffling her hair with one hand. “We’ll be landing as soon as our pilot here finishes her bean juice.”

“Shut up and drink your leaf water,” Naasade growled playfully, slugging back the last of her kaff. “Or better yet, make me another cup while I go throw clothes on.”

At Larec’s nudge, Sharya takes Naasade’s mug in her force grip, sending it to the counter next to the dedicated kaff pot, and pouring the kaff and sugar. She has to split her attention when, as she’s standing, Naasade leaned across the table to tilt her head back and seize her lips in a kiss. The kaff sloshed only a little as the mug settled back onto the table, Sharya’s eyes drifting closed as she hummed, not minding the burned taste of kaff when it was on Naasade’s tongue.

“Good morning, by the way,” Naasade finally purred as she pulled away, fingers leaving her hair with a caress that Sharya leaned into.

“Very good,” she agreed, and buried her nose in her tea again.

_ ~fin _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recipe for No Bake Chocolate Peanut Butter Cookies, aka heavenly goodness
> 
> INGREDIENTS  
1/2 cup butter  
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder  
1/2 cup milk  
2 cups sugar  
1/2 teaspoon salt  
1 teaspoon vanilla extract  
1/2 cup peanut butter  
3 cups old fashioned oatmeal
> 
> INSTRUCTIONS  
In a 2 quart saucepan, combine butter, cocoa powder, milk, sugar, and salt. Stirring constantly, bring to a rolling boil. Contnue boiling for 1 minute.  
Remove from heat and stir in vanilla extract and peanut butter until smooth. Fold in oatmeal to coat.  
Drop by tablespoons (or use a medium cookie scoop) onto parchment paper (or wax paper) lined trays. Let cookies set up, 30-60 minutes, befre storing an in airtight container.


	8. Limbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The extraction team is on the way to Edithae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry giftmas/solstice/happy hanukkah/happy winter holidays, everyone.
> 
> i had to create an entire damn solar system for this.
> 
> have some plot.

  
  


By the time Keaira received the call from Dral’Tiin to meet at his ship two days later, she was already well into her kaff pot, staring at the bag sitting by the door. She had been packed and ready to leave a bare hour after leaving Granya’s quarters, and had been keeping calm only by dent of exhausting herself with anyone who was able to keep up with her in the dojos and salles, sparring until her muscles felt like water. 

Even then, her emotions kept trying to get the better of her, slipping past her shields to spark against the peaceful background currents of the temple. When he had been living, her master had done his best to help curb her temper, teaching her all the meditations that had worked for him and his other padawans. They had even worked, at least until that ill-fated mission that had cost him his life and Keaira her eyes; after, when she had been recovering and learning to see again while under Granya’s care, her young padawans had been the only balm against the pain of his too soon death. Despite their age, the two sisters had understood her pain all too well, and done their best to help her heal; in return, Keaira had claimed them both as her family, and did everything she could to ensure the two were safe.

Shaking her head to clear away the melancholy thoughts, she glanced over at the chrono on the oven, and went to dump the dregs of her kaff down the sink. It was time to leave, and see what had happened to her remaining sister, and if she could be saved. Keaira hadn’t been able to help Lira, as she had all but disappeared from the galaxy, but it might not be too late for Sharya.

The halls at seventh hour weren’t too crowded, despite the many beings who called the temple on Ossus home, and Keaira made good time to the hangar. Getting directions from a yawning gearhead, she froze when Dral’Tiin’s ship came into view.

A red skinned woman was leaning against the hull of the Tiin Bucket, dressed in short, pale Jedi robes and high heeled, knee length boots, arms crossed under her breasts, intensely focused on the oil-stained ground in front of her. As she came nearer, Keaira was able to make out the delicate spurs at her chin, and small ridges along and under her cheekbones, the tiny, gold inked tattoos decorating her temples and the corners of her eyes.

“Good morning,” the woman called when she noticed Keaira, looking up and smiling. “It’s Keaira, right?”

Coming to an abrupt halt, Keaira felt her frayed temper begin to snap. 

She had heard the rumors, that a pureblood Sith had found its way to Ossus and somehow become a Jedi, but she had never seen it in the flesh, and had never wanted to. It was bad enough that Jedi could still fall, but for a Sith to try and claim the title of Jedi, despite everything they had done to the galaxy? She could very easily hate the being, sight unseen.

“Sith spawn.” Keaira couldn’t stop herself from hissing at the red skinned Sith, who simply smirked, red-gold eyes narrowing as her open, friendly force presence shuttered.

“Technically, I’m only half Sith,” she answered, not moving except to cross her legs at the knee where she stood. “Mother dearest, may she rot, is a twi’lek.”

“I don’t care if your mother was a hutt, you’re still a Sith and the enemy,” she growled, hand itching towards her primary lightsaber, the strap of her bag beginning to slip down her shoulder.

“Good morning, Keaira, Maura.” Dral’Tiin’s sudden voice behind her was the only thing stopping her from pulling her ‘saber out, and she had a slight, guilty feeling that he knew it. 

“Master Tiin,” Keaira said, not turning from the Sith, clenching her free hand into a fist. “I thought we would be going into Sith territory, not helping to expand it.”

The Sith snorted, and turned towards the ship, activating the ramp and snagging a bag from where it had been hidden behind her feet. 

“For your information,” she said shortly. “I was raised here, and am just as much a Jedi as you are.” Before escaping up the ramp, the Sith glanced over her shoulder, eyes still narrowed. “Your shielding sucks, by the way. Learn some huttese, it’s much better equipped for swearing than basic.”

A clawed hand landing on her shoulder barely kept her from snarling, and she looked down slightly, fixing her cybernetics on the lenses protecting the Kel Dor’s eyes. “That is a  _ Sith _ , Dral’Tiin. Why is she coming with us?”

“Maura Kenna has proven her loyalty to the light time and again, to Master Granuille’s, and the Council’s, satisfaction,” he answered, faint disapproval coloring the force around him. “Her birth species was no choice of hers, and you should not hold it against her as you are.”

Patting her shoulder again, the shorter Jedi master moved past her, taking the ramp sedately. Growling again, Keaira took a moment, closing her eyes and breathing. It took a long time for her to be able to release the anger to the force, to accept it and let it go, running silently through the Jedi code until she no longer felt like shoving her lightsaber through something.

While she was calming herself, Tavarin and then a pale green mirialan a few minutes after him climbed aboard the ship, glancing curiously at her as she paced. She waved them on with a wordless grumble, although Tavarin took a moment to squint at her, before he juggled open a box and shoved a flaky pastry into her hand in exchange for her bag.

“Eat that. See you onboard.”

Bemused, she obeyed, finishing the pastry and licking her fingers clean of the sticky icing in time to follow the mirialan up the ramp about five minutes later. As soon as her boots hit plating, it hissed shut, hydraulics groaning softly, and Keaira headed back towards the sound of voices. Checking her shields before she entered the galley, she made sure she wasn’t projecting her anger about the Sith quite so obviously as before, pausing a moment to observe, ignoring the bags piled just inside the door.

Tavarin at least looked neater than he had two days ago, and like he had actually managed to get some sleep since; he was wearing thin leather gloves as he fussed about with two kaff makers, one already dripping a delicious, rich smelling kaff, while the other held steaming water. He had also taken the time to trim his beard close to his jaw, the effect adding years to his face, even though she knew he was only about three or four years younger than her. His shaggy brown hair, however, needed a trim in the worst way, the fringe almost falling into his eyes as he investigated the contents of the cabinets. Judging from the array of spoons, kaff, and tea bags already on the counter, he had found everything but the mugs, and was starting to mutter to himself.

Settling into the bench built into the wall of the galley was the pale green mirialan, who, by process of elimination was Aden. Keaira couldn’t stop herself from shooting a suspicious look at the Sith, grabbing another pastry from the open box and choosing to lean against the wall rather than sit at the table. From the way the ship was humming beneath her feet, Dral’Tiin must already be in the cockpit, waiting for clearance to take off, which explained his absence from the galley. 

Snorting when she noticed the look, the Sith shifted where she was sitting on the edge of the table, recrossing her almost bare legs at the knee and taking a pointed bite of her own pastry, eyeing the dripping kaff pot.

“So, how do you know Master Granuille,” Aden was asking the Sith, and Keaira focused on him.

Or maybe he was a she? It was hard to tell, as the voice was either a low alto or high tenor, and their clothing a mix of traditional mirial and Jedi; loose-fitting, light-colored trousers tucked into pale brown ankle boots, a soft creamy shirt with a flat collar that showed the edge of their collarbones. Embroidered triangles and chevrons matching the tattoos across their cheekbones and forehead were picked out in deep jewel tones along the collar, almost hidden by the traditional Jedi robe draped around them, while a sash and belt were wrapped at their waist; their dark, red-tipped hair was pulled back in a loose braid, strands falling free to frame their face, helping to add to the androgynous look.

“She was my primary combat teacher,” Kenna said with a shrug, after swallowing. “Granya was also one of the few Jedi to look at me and not see the Sith first.” Narrow red-gold eyes flicked to Keaira for a second. “She and my master almost had to fistfight half the Council to convince them to let me take the trials. I kinda wish they had, it would have been great. How about you?”

“When I was younger, I helped tutor Lira in her healer classes, and met her that way,” they answered, before pausing. When Aden continued, their voice was soft. “Do you know if Sharya ever found out what happened to her?”

“Considering the Sith who captured her is the same that attacked Dantooine?” Keaira started, well aware of the growl still in her voice, despite her best efforts. “I’m going to say it’s a very good chance that she found something.”

At her voice, Tavarin finally turned from opening the rest of the cabinets built into the wall above the sink; he had almost worked his way back to the cold store built into the wall farthest from the door, and still hadn’t found the mugs. “If we’re lucky, we might be able to find Lira at the same time we find Sharya.”

“We would have to be very lucky indeed,” Dral’Tiin said over the intercom, making Keaira jump slightly. She wasn’t the only one, at least; Aden jerked, and Kenna straightened, eyes narrowing further. “Lira has been missing for over a year, while Sharya has only been out of contact for three days. But we should not give up hope just yet.”

The intercom then clicked off, leaving them all staring at each other. 

“Dral, darling,” Kenna said at last, loudly, leaning forward to aim her voice down the hall. “It is considered very rude to eavesdrop when one is not even in the same room.”

The intercom clicked on again, and a chuckle answered her. “It’s my ship, therefore I can eavesdrop all I want.”

“So long as you don’t do it while I’m in the ‘fresher, I don’t care,” Tavarin muttered, before raising his voice. “Where do you keep the mugs on this boat?”

“You better not give me kaff,” Aden said lightly, dark green eyes sparking with humor. 

“More kaff for me, then,” Kenna exclaimed, expression brightening, and Keaira growled. 

“Not if I get it first.”

Her statement made the Sith turn to face her, a disbelieving look on her face, and Keaira stared back unflinchingly. 

“The mugs are next to the cold store, and ladies, try not to get blood on my ship. The cleaning bill would be horrendous.”

“Why in the galaxy do you have the mugs next to the cold store,” Tavarin said, finally opening the correct door and grabbing out four mugs. “That’s a terrible place for mugs.”

Just before he closed the cabinet, something large and obnoxiously bright blue deep in the back caught her attention. Wiping her hands off on the thighs of her thin trousers, she went over to pull the cabinet open again, curious enough to cross the Sith’s path, and ignoring the way she delicately pulled her feet back despite the distance already between them. The bright blue thing turned out to be a huge novelty mug with the words ‘The Boss’s Mug’ stenciled on the side in black aurebesh with neon yellow edges, and she grinned; she had just found her kaff mug for the rest of this possibly horrid mission, and she grabbed the blue eyesore from the shelf. 

“Tava,” she said, turning to face him, and holding up the mug. “Do you think there’s enough kaff for this?”

Tavarin paused in the midst of pouring to glance at her, and then the huge mug in her hand. She had caught his attention just in time; steam was already rising from one of the normal-sized mugs. 

“Huh,” he said at last. “That’s a big mug.”

“You two better not get into a fight over a kaff mug,” Aden said, looking between Keaira and the Sith sternly. “Caffeine, I can understand, but I do not heal stupidity related injuries, and that would count as one of the stupidest things to fight over I have seen in my life.”

“But that  _ is _ a big mug,” Kenna muttered, eyeing the mug enviously, and then taking her normal-sized mug from Tavarin, before continuing with, “I promise nothing.”

“Same,” Keaira said, and then proceeded to pour well over half of the pot into the mug, with plenty of room left over for creamer and sugar. Yup, this was her mug now.

The healer just snorted, and accepted their tea silently.

—

Once they were in hyperspace, Dral’Tiin had them meet in the lounge, where he promised an in-depth briefing on what to expect, both from Edithae and from the former-Jedi-now-Sith Larec Rivers.

What Maura hadn’t expected was to see the entire security vid of the attack on Dantooine; she hadn’t known anyone at the enclave very well, except for Lira, but Keaira, Tavarin and Dral’Tiin had spent a good amount of time there. Aden, having been trained as a healer first and Jedi second, hadn’t known anyone there, either.

“Despite the Council’s best efforts, every Jedi knows about the attack on Dantooine,” the Kel Dor started, settling comfortably into one of the overstuffed chairs scattered around the room. One clawed hand held the control for the display, with the vid already queued, but frozen on a still, calm scene of the rounded meditation garden of the Enclave. “After the investigation, all records were sealed, by the Council’s order. The galaxy at large, however, has only just begun hearing rumors of something happening on Dantooine, that also involved the Sith.”

“What you are about to watch is the full attack, and even with our mission, the Council was reluctant to give it over. Thankfully,” he said, “Our Granuille is far more stubborn than they are, and managed to bully them into sharing it. This is the only copy outside of those sealed records, and we are to destroy it as soon as we have gained every scrap of intelligence from it that we can.”

With that, Dral’Tiin turned to face the viewscreen, pressing play.

_ The sun was just beginning to set over the gently rounded walls of the garden, brilliant streaks of pink, red-gold and orange painting the sky. Scattered across the slightly wild, green lawn, was a number of Jedi; in one half of the garden was a gathering of padawans, still in their braids, knights, and masters for a group meditation. In the other half, more Jedi were studying, or, in one case, practicing open-handed katas, grinning at each other. More than half of them had lightsabers at their belts, not that it did them much good. _

_ Over in the group meditation, Maura could just see Lira’s auburn hair, worn in the twin buns she favored, giving her the appearance of having ewok ears on top of her head. Moments passed, the sun slowly sinking as the scene played on. The two Jedi finished their open-handed duel, bowing to each other, and the leader of the meditation rose from their knees, clearly ready to dismiss the group for the evening. _

_ A sudden, echoing boom heralded the beginning of the attack; from the way the Jedi closest to the blast went down, clutching at their heads, it had been a sonic explosive of some kind, handily disabling them in time for the rounded wall to come crumbling down in flames. Another boom disrupted the feed for a brief second, before the view changed; the security droid must have been damaged or destroyed in the second blast, Maura noted absently, keeping her eyes locked on the ragged hole now in the outside wall of the garden.  _

_ Shadowy figures were already moving in, led by a tall man dressed entirely in black, a bloody red lightsaber igniting at his side. A slender, feminine figure, wearing distinctive mandalorian armor, stepped up to his left; she was already tossing a third grenade deep into the garden, even as she moved to cut down the Jedi scrambling to their feet around her. Before their lightsabers could even ignite, they were falling, blood spray catching the light with a morbid beauty as she darted into the shocked, half sonic stunned crowd.  _

_ The Sith had already made it halfway across the rounded space by the time the third grenade went off, concentrating entirely on the Jedi who were still standing, lightsabers pulled from their waists. One hand flung out, shards of ice forming midair to pierce cloth and leather. Behind them both, more armored figures were moving in, blasters raised and shooting blue stun bolts at any being that was trying to move to escape. Lira, her hands glowing, trying to get to one of the knights downed by the ice, driven to heal even in the utter chaos of battle, caught Maura’s eye. _

_ She also caught the Sith’s attention; striking down a nautolan holding a green lightsaber, his amber eyes locked onto the young healer, his free hand stretching out in a grabbing motion. Clutching at her throat, she fell to her knees, only meters away from the dying knight. _

_ “That one,” the Sith snarled over the sounds of battle, and the mandalorian turned, yanking Lira up by the hair and dragging her, screaming, back to where the armored figures were holding the line.  _

_ In between felling Jedi, he pointed out different padawans to the mandalorian, who grabbed them and forced them back behind the armored troops; an orange-skinned twi’lek with one striped lekku bound instead of the usual braid, a human with vibrant red hair, a pale yellow zabrak, a kiffar with two green stripes tattooed on her cheeks.  _

_ Just as soon as the attack began, it ended. The Sith fell back, leaving corpses and injured in his wake before sending a cold smirk up at the hovering security droids. He raised a hand, clenching it into a fist, and the feed screeched into black and white static as he retreated through the hole in the wall. _

—

The list of casualties, despite the speed and savagery of the attack, was surprisingly low; far more had been injured than had died, almost all high level masters and knights. Aside from the five kidnapped padawans, only twelve Jedi had been killed by Larec and the as of yet nameless mandalorian; four more had died from their injuries later on, but the majority had been felled by the sonic explosives thrown by the mandalorian, taken out of commission before they even knew what had happened. 

Those that had remained standing had been able to shield their connections to the force, trying to fight back against the invaders, and had been the first to fall to Larec.

“Bela’kitu, Devcora Keeden, Hosra Sriaka, Laralea Tanewith, and Lira Moonchaser,” Dral’Tiin listed the names of those taken soberly, pausing the footage on the Sith’s cold, mocking smile. “The Enclave’s systems showed no signs of outside slicing, the personnel files were untouched, and yet he managed to take the four most promising knight presumptives the Enclave boasted, as well as Lira.”

“If that’s the case, then how did he manage to get that close in the first place,” Tavarin asked, frowning. “Was any of the support staff interviewed, or checked for manipulation or coercion?”

“Two of the cleaning staff had been manipulated,” Keaira answered, poking at a datapad, orange cybernetics glowing softly. She had forced back a growl when Dral’Tiin had paused the footage, but now she was reviewing the reports Granuille had demanded with the vids. “They were found in the security room with no memory of getting there; the perimeter sensors were turned off about half an hour before the attack, which is what allowed them to get so close.”

“And since they weren't even visible until they disembarked, he probably also used an infiltrator class ship,” Maura muttered, one thumb absently pressed to her lips over her crossed arms. She had her own datapad in front of her, as did Tavarin and Aden; the same reports Keaira was looking at were on it, but she would read over them in detail later. Right now, she was racking her brain, trying to remember if she had heard about this Larec on any of her other missions. “A ship of that size would have had plenty of room for troops, possibly even separate cells for prisoners; it definitely would have had some type of cloaking, as well as backing from the Dark Council.”

That got Maura a curious look, from both Aden and Tavarin, while Keaira just snorted. “Noted: Sith are copycats.”

Ignoring the childish comment for the moment, aside from narrowing her eyes in annoyance, she said, “What? Basically my entire mission rotation is spent in Sith territory of  _ some _ kind, and the emperor doesn’t bother in the day to day ruling. He’s got a Council to take care of that.”

“If that is the case, then how likely is it that he kept any of the padawans for himself, instead of giving them over to this Council?” Aden asked, also obviously ignoring the comment aside from rolling their eyes. “And is it possible that he would do the same with Sharya?”

She was already shaking her head before the mirial had finished speaking. “Without knowing what he’s doing at the temple, it’s impossible to tell; he could have kept all of them, or just gave them to the council, or even another Sith; they do all kinds of horrible shit to non-humanoids in the empire, and I wouldn’t put it past someone wanting to get their hands on a bunch of fresh force users for experiments.”

At Aden’s question, Dral’Tiin had leaned forward, resting his chin on interlaced hands, his force presence turning contemplative.

“When I knew him,” he said quietly, rebreather just as whisper soft. “Larec had shown no interest in training a padawan.”

Now this was interesting, and Maura looked at him curiously, shifting to swing her legs up over the arm of her chair. She hadn’t known about this bit of trivia from the Kel Dor, although it should have occurred to her before now; he was easily the same age as Larec, if not a bit older. His announcement had also shifted everyone else to look at him, Keaira even dropping her datapad into her lap to stare intensely at the master. 

“Then again, time can change a person. It  _ has _ been almost thirty years since he fell.”

“Come on, Dral, don’t leave us hanging like this,” Maura said when the silence dragged on a beat too long, the Kel Dor seeming to be lost in thoughts of the past. “What was he like as a Jedi? We already know he’s scary efficient in battle.”

She wasn’t wrong; the attack had been well planned, on the outside; lasting a total of eight minutes and thirty seven seconds, every action had been well coordinated, with no hesitation on the part of the invaders. Larec had been the first one to step into the meditation garden, and the last to leave; the troops hadn’t gone more than three meters from the wall, even when they had separated for the mandalorian to wrestle the struggling padawans past the line. 

Rewinding the vid multiple times, and paying careful attention as each padawan had been thrown through, had revealed the reason none of them had been able to escape; as soon as the mandalorian had shoved her through the parted line, Lira had been grabbed again, binders locked around her wrists before a hypospray was depressed into her neck by a shadowy figure, and tossed over a shoulder to disappear beyond the Sith’s troops. She hadn’t even had time to scream before she was being hauled further into the shadowed hole to disappear.

Every padawan taken seemed to have gotten the same treatment, although Bela’kitu had almost broken back through the line; the light orange twi’lek with the darker orange stripes on her lekku had been grabbed after Lira, and she had almost been ready for her trials. She managed to take down one of the soldiers guarding the wall, slamming her elbow into the masked face so hard the visor shattered from the blow; it had won her three steps from the line before her lekku had been grabbed, prompting a piercing shriek as she crumpled and was dragged back, still fighting, behind the troops.

Hosra Sriaka, the pale yellow zabrak, had been weaving a shield wall between the stun blasts and a group of knights that had been directly hit by one of the sonic grenades; they were stumbling to their feet, guiding each other as they fought off the disorienting shock wave and escaped; Hosra was keeping them from being felled again when the mandalorian targeted him. He had noticed when Bela’kitu and Lira had been taken, and immediately began redirecting the stun bolts towards the mandalorian, yelling at the Jedi behind him to run even as he backed away, his face a mask of fierce concentration and worry. 

Once the mandalorian had closed the distance between them, sword sweeping upwards, the stun bolts had stopped shooting in that direction; they instead focused on the doors of the garden, preventing any rescue of those trapped inside, half becoming deadly beams of light as others remained stun blasts. Meanwhile, Hosra had been holding off the mandalorian, proving himself worthy of his knighting the week previous; the mandalorian had to contend with both his lightsaber and the kinetic waves he was using to knock her off balance. After being shoved back onto one knee again, she had feinted low, only to slam her helmeted head against the zabrak’s, grabbing him by one horn as she straightened. Stunned, Hosra’s lightsaber had dropped from his hand, and when the mandalorian rammed her knee into his middle, he went limp. 

One of the troops broke formation long enough to take the dazed zabrak from the mandalorian halfway across the garden, slinging him over one shoulder and leaving her free to go after Laralea Tanewith. The red haired human had just arrived at the enclave, sent by her master to study a particular lightsaber form; she had been one of the Jedi taken down by the sonic grenades, but recovered faster than any of the others around her; she, like Hosra, had put up a fight, up until she suddenly started clutching at her throat, grey eyes wide with growing panic. 

Larec had finished his battle with the few remaining masters, literally freezing them in place to personally grab one last padawan, the kiffar Devcora Keeden; he held her unconscious form over one shoulder as he kept Laralea still for the mandalorian to knock out, before retreating at last to the crumbled wall. The single brave security droid that had darted into the hole had revealed yet more troops lining a ramp, passing each padawan along as they slowly stopped fighting, giving in to whatever they had been injected with. It had been a split second of a recording, the droid getting shot down before it managed to retreat, but it had done its job well, uploading the footage just before it was destroyed.

“He was very focused on what he wanted, and usually patient,” Dral’Tiin finally replied. “He was stubborn, and not afraid to get his hands dirty if needed, however he would always try diplomacy first. He and his partner, Rayadri, were actually considered some of the best diplomatic envoys the Order had at the time. ”

“Who was Rayadri?” Aden asked, reaching for the mug of tea in front of them.

“Rayadri Fraea,” Dral’Tiin said, tilting his head towards the healer. “Was a tiny, fierce red-haired creature who was more stubborn than Larec and Granya ever thought of being, and she always believed that there was good in the beings around her. She managed to bully most war-hungry politicians into signing treaties or truces, terrifying them enough that they would never try to war with each other again.”

“Which is why, on their last mission, they were deployed to a system on the verge of a massive civil war,” he continued soberly. “They were requested specifically by the Republic chancellor at the time, to try and keep that from happening. Not long after they arrived, the two governments decided they couldn’t wait any longer, and officially declared war on each other; Larec and Rayadri had asked for extraction when the negotiations broke down, but the Council obeyed the chancellor, and refused the request. They were told to try and get the governments to stand down, and only then would they be extracted. 

“Rayadri was killed during a bombing in the capital building of the incumbent government two days later. Larec was closeted with the opposing government, and survived.”

“They did not.” He paused a moment, sighing. “Rayadri and Larec had apparently formed a pair bond, and when she died, he slaughtered them all. Granuille and I were sent by the Council to try and find him on the planet, but he left the system before we arrived.”

“So, patient, focused, stubborn, scarily efficient, not to mention thorough, and also an elemental kinetic? Fantastic,” Maura said flatly. “Was he dramatic, too?”

“Not very,” Dral’Tiin sounded amused as he answered, force presence lightening somewhat as he looked up from his interlaced hands. “He was prone to terrible puns, however.”

“Can we blame Granya for that,” Tavarin said into the brief silence that followed. “Or was that something she picked up from him?”

“It was entirely Granya’s fault,” Dral’Tiin chortled. “She’s also the one that named my ship.”

—

“What do we know about the mandalorian,” Keaira asked at last, after they had come back from lunch. 

The vid had been paused as Hosra was handed over to the soldier, just as the mandalorian had turned, giving them an excellent top view of the paint on her armor; fully painted in black, with lines of green and gold along the chestplate, and grey painted along the t-shaped visor, it gave them a good idea of what she was thinking at the time of the attack, even though Dral’Tiin was the only one versed enough in mando’a customs to read it. 

“She believes she’s doing a duty, some sort of justified revenge,” he answered after glancing back at the picture. “As to whether this is actually justified, is hard to say, without knowing who she is under the helmet, but she is part of...” He leaned forward a little, head tilted as he tried to make out the symbol painted on her shoulder pauldron. “Hm. I’m not familiar with that clan.”

“So, nothing,” Maura snorted before Keaira could. The Sith didn’t acknowledge her dirty look, aside from a brief twitch of her lips. “Great.”

There went a possibly useful line of research, although it was possible the mandalorian had been mentioned in other mission reports. Keaira opened a new search on her datapad anyway, using a backdoor she had built into the temple’s mission archives years ago; if there was mention of a black armored mandalore female in any report, she would know in a number of hours. She also clicked her back teeth together to take an image focusing on the odd marking on the pauldron to begin a visual search; the archives might also have information on the clan, slim as the chance might be. “What do we know about Edithae, then? Other than the resident Sith lord, the Sith temple, and, oh yeah, the dark wellspring?”

“It’s a moon,” Tavarin said dryly, before tapping at his pad and grinning excitedly. “It’s a  _ retrograde rotation moon _ . I’ve always wanted to visit one of those.”

“It spins backward? That’s weird,” Aden muttered, fingers swiping. “Looks like there is a handful of human settlements that found an export business with… Silver ironwood. The settlement closest to the temple was the one that had requested a Jedi, apparently.”

Bringing up the same report, Keaira frowned as she read aloud, “Twenty-nine hour rotation period, and the day lasts thirteen hours, but the nights last sixteen? What kind of Celestial designed this thing?”

"One that had a thing for sleeping in, obviously," Kenna said, grinning when she turned to make a face at the woman. “You know I’m right.”

—

It wasn’t much longer after that they separated to different parts of the ship; Aden to familiarize themselves with the tiny med-closet squeezed into the space between the fresher and Dral’Tiin’s room, Dral’Tiin to erase all evidence of the vid, and Keaira, Maura and Tavarin to unpack the essentials of shipboard life; warm clothes, toothbrushes, thick socks, and the like.

It didn’t take Maura long to stuff her things into the storage compartment under her bunk, and then she was left watching as Tavarin refolded his clothes to fit properly into his drawer. 

“I didn’t figure you for a loth cat fan,” she said curiously, tilting her head to better see the pattern on the yellow sleeping pants in his hand.

He grinned and shook the pants out for her to better see a pattern of stylized loth cats dressed like Jedi and holding lightsabers. 

“It was the will of the force,” he said cheekily, and she grinned. He finished folding the pants and then mirrored her seat on the bunk, hands dangling between his knees instead of bracing against the bed like she was doing. “Have all your missions been in Sith space?”

“That was fast,” she replied, blinking, but answered him anyway. It wasn’t even that sore of a subject anymore, despite the more darkened Jedi avoiding her because of her ancestry, and her missions. “Just about, yeah. The council took their chance when they finally knighted me, and basically threw me into Sith territory soon as my braid was cut.”

“And that would be why I’ve not seen you around,” Tavarin said, wincing. “Was it Detluko?”

“Him, and a few others. He was plenty happy to send me off, and I think a little disappointed when I showed up just fine a week and a half later.”

“How is it that I’ve not had anywhere near the problems everyone else has with him?”

“You hit the genetic lottery,“ Maura snorted before straightening, and looking Tavarin in the eye seriously. “That asshole’s a misogynist, and hidebound to boot. I don’t think he ever met a female-presenting being and didn’t immediately look down his nose at them. Granuille’s been trying to build a case against him to boot him off the Council, but he’s just clever enough to try and hide the worst of his misogyny under ‘concern for the weaker sex’, and give us shit missions, or the worst briefings possible. If the being in question didn’t come back in less than one perfect piece, he would try and argue that we can’t handle the mission rotations males could.”

Frowning, he filed that away for later examination, and then dropped his head into his hand. If Sharya’s briefing  _ had  _ been prepared by the blue twi’lek, then he was just about implicit in whatever had happened to her. “So, we could easily say that Detluko has as much to do with what happened to Sharya as Larec.”

“And we won’t even know what that was for another week,” Maura sighed. “Time for a distraction. Want to go see what alcohol Dral drinks?”

“Sure, I’ve been meaning to kill my brain cells a little faster lately,” he deadpanned, grinning as the woman laughed.

—

The rest of the trip to Edithae was uncomfortable, at best. And by ‘uncomfortable,’ Tavarin meant that he had fallen into bramble patches less prickly than the force around Maura and Keaira; when they were in a room together, it didn’t take them long to start sniping at each other, Maura smirking and being an outrageously sarcastic flirt, while Keaira got angrier and snarkier, grinning viciously whenever one of her barbs stuck in Maura’s skin. 

If they had had to share a room, the Bucket may have gotten a few unnecessary holes, but Tavarin and Aden had cut that off at the pass; Tavarin had immediately grabbed Maura’s red striped bag with his, taking them to the bunks on the other side of the galley after finishing his tea, leaving Aden and Keaira to bunk together next to the ‘fresher. He would have had to bunk with one of them, anyway; past experience had taught him that he would easily pick up everything Keaira felt; her shields were decent enough if she was calm, but as soon as she started getting angry, or worried about what they would find at the end of the journey, he would start getting snippy without meaning to, accidentally tuning in to her emotions and projecting them for her.

His shields were good, but this ship was small, enclosed, and, eventually, stuffy from the many emotions crowding the halls, sinking into everything he touched, even through his gloves. He wound up covering almost all of himself not even halfway to Corbos, pulling on his favorite pair of Jedi lothcat pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt to keep from knocking into stray impressions; the clothes were liberally soaked with his own emotional state, helping to act as an extra buffer between him and everyone else.

Maura and Aden, as well as Dral’Tiin, all had excellent shielding, and were almost always able to stop themselves from projecting; Tavarin appreciated it, and did his best not to accidentally pry. Even so, being able to read the history of things and people at a touch made it a little difficult not to learn things about his shipmates.

Dral’Tiin, he had known for years; the Kel Dor was training to take Granuille’s place as the master combat teacher, but he hadn’t known that he used twirly straws to drink until that first morning; Tavarin was used to being the first up on any group mission, and to see not only the Kel Dor already up and dressed, but carrying a mug of tea with a long purple straw sticking out of the top as he left the galley, made him pause.

“Straws are not only for children,” he chuckled when he noticed Tavarin’s double-take, and proved it by sticking the end of the straw into a port on his rebreather.

“Nope,” Tavarin answered, still puzzled. He had gone through every drawer and cabinet in the galley yesterday in his search for the mugs, but he hadn’t seen any vibrantly colored loopy plastic straws anywhere. Plenty of different types of nuts, sealed ration bars, and human-compatible food and drink, along with the cookware to go with it, but no straws. “Do you have a yellow one?”

That got him another chuckle, but he quickly had his own loopy straw, one that Dral’Tiin hadn’t used very much; the only impressions on it were those from brief handling, and easily ignored. 

Aden, the thirtyish mirial who didn’t identify as a gender and thus used ‘they,’had stared at Keaira silently the first time she mislabelled them, until she realized what she had done, and apologized, flushing. Tavarin grew used to seeing them, first thing in the day-cycle, seated in meditation in a corner of the lounge as he went to start breakfast. As a lifelong healer, they had long gotten used to shielding their own emotions so as not to affect their patients, and it was soothing to sit near them during his own meditations, their force presence a calm bubble that politely kept to itself. 

He did quickly figure out that when they moved their hands as they talked, it was more than restless energy; it was a language. 

“You talk with your hands,” Tavarin said, watching them closely. 

Keaira and Maura were arguing again, this time over what to watch on the viewscreen. Aden had given up on trying to get a word in, and now their hands were shifting and twitching, held a careful height above their lap as they stared into the distance, green eyes narrowed with annoyance.

“Huh,” they asked, blinking and turning to face him, hands abruptly stilling their fidgeting. “How’d you figure?”

Tavarin grinned. “You made that same gesture yesterday when those two were fighting over who got to use the Mug.”

“Good eye,” they said, grinning back. “Not everyone picks up on that.”

Which is how Tavarin ended up learning the rudiments of mirial sign language, including good morning, good night, hello, and fucking idiots. The brief touch of their hands correcting his finger positions as they taught him the letters gave him memories of being instructed as a child by a woman with dark grey streaked hair and soft wrinkles on her face. Once he brought himself to ask about the woman, they had smiled somewhat sadly before replying, “She was my grandmother; she would have been a Jedi if she hadn’t fallen in love with grandfather first, so she wanted me to go in her place.” 

They also hadn’t been kidding about not healing injuries caused by the Mug, as it was now known; on the fourth day, Maura had gotten to it first, seconds before Keaira could snag it from the drying rack, leading to a miniature fistfight. Maura kept the Mug, but got a massive bruise on her side from being slammed into the counter, and Keaira got one on the cheek without the implants, and a snit for the rest of the day. They had walked in on the fight, sighed, and then turned back around without a word, leaving Tavarin alone to try and protect the breakfast he was cooking. 

The two managed to heal the injuries on their own, but it had been a blotchy, hours long process, leaving Maura hissing when she twisted too much, and faint shadows of green and yellow on Keaira’s cheek for the rest of the day.

Maura had admitted to him later, still bruised but sipping happily from the Mug, that she had purposely not gone after the implants, even though those were easily the fastest way to take down Keaira in a fight; her implants were wired directly into her nervous system, where some bizarre mix of science that he didn’t understand—he may have been a techie, but that level of biological implantation was a whole other bag of cats that he couldn’t follow no matter how he tried—allowed her to access most computer systems like a droid. If one of those implants was damaged severely enough, it would cripple the other Jedi until she could be put into surgery to repair or replace the cybernetics. 

“Just because she’s a hypocritical dumbass,” Maura continued, glancing at him over the lip of her kaff, “Doesn’t mean I want to hurt her.”

He could understand Maura not wanting to seriously injure a teammate—they were all on the same mission, after all, trying to save Sharya from the Sith that had captured her—but the first part...

“When you say hypocritical,” he started uneasily, but Maura cut him off with a sober look.

“Tavarin,” she said quietly, red-gold eyes soft. “She almost drew her ‘saber on me in the very first moment she met me. Granuille had told me she was bad about Sith and fallen Jedi, but I don’t think she realized exactly how bad she’s gotten.”

He wanted to argue with her, but he couldn’t quite find a way to try and prove her wrong; Keaira Morrigann had good reason to be angry and possibly even hate fallen Jedi and Sith, but that was something that she had to work through on her own. No one could help her get through the tangle of pain and rage her master’s death had left her, not unless she wanted that help.

When he didn’t respond, Maura sighed. “If you don’t believe me, watch her shadow the next time she gets pissed off.” A red skinned hand rose, displaying finger and thumb held close together; there was maybe enough room between the two to slide a piece of flimsi. “She is this close to falling, and she doesn’t seem to notice or care.”

Unfortunately, Tavarin knew she was right, and took care to watch Keaira’s shadow the next time they argued. He got his chance a few hours later, when both women decided to use the shower at the same time.

The way the edges of Keaira’s shadow began slipping towards the corners of the hall made his skin crawl, even as she smirked victoriously at Maura, the door sliding shut behind her as she took control of the fresher for the next two hours. Aden got caught in the middle of the water reheating, and yelled at them both, wrapped in a towel and shivering from the still icy spray, while Dral’Tiin sighed and retreated back to the cargo hold to shadow spar. Tavarin had followed gratefully, and even managed to knock the Kel Dor onto his ass once they started sparring.

At least the fighting cooled off after the shower incident, and the thorough chewing out Aden gave both of them; Keaira had grudgingly apologized for using most of the hot water, and Maura had nodded silently, choosing to get lost in a datapad rather than continue acknowledging the other woman’s existence. 

“Dral,” Tavarin panted as he dodged the sky blue blade coming at his side in a wide sweep, “Have you noticed anything--” Shove the Kel Dor back, two steps forward and  _ swing _ \-- “Odd about Keaira lately?”

His blow was deflected, but he turned it into a spin that ended up locking their blades together, green sparking lightly against blue, and grinned. Dral’Tiin just chortled and backed off to reassume a guard stance. Tavarin followed suit, waiting patiently. The older Jedi master liked to talk while sparring; he claimed it helped promote situational awareness, but he privately thought it was to get gossip, as he had done it in every training class Tavarin had been in.

“I have noticed her irrational hatred of the morning cycle,” he answered, beginning to circle. “As well as her fondness for my mug.”

And the Kel Dor still loved puns. 

“Granya would have been proud of that one,” Tavarin said, grin widening. “But seriously—“ the Kel Dor darted forward, a flurry of swift thrusts that knocked him back. “Have you?”

Remaining silent for a second, as he managed to block or avoid most of the thrusts—he still ended up with a scorch mark on his shirt over his left shoulder—Dral’Tiin muttered something. 

“Keep your elbow up, that’s the second time I’ve hit that shoulder,” he said louder, backing off once again. This time, he disengaged his lightsaber, and settled onto the floor, crossing his legs. 

_ Oh boy, serious talk _ , Tavarin thought, and powered off his own saber to sit down across from him.

“You have noticed that as well,” Dral said. 

The words sounded like a question, but the tone of voice said it was a statement, and he nodded. “Her shadow is beginning to move.”

—

Five long, interminable days after stepping foot onto the Tiin Bucket, Keaira was almost at the end of her rope; the closer they got to Corbos, Edithae, and the temple that Sharya had disappeared into, the tighter wound she became. Two or three days into the journey, Granya had commed them, and let them know that she still hadn’t responded to the Council’s now numerous messages. She had retreated into the cargo hold upon hearing the news, taking apart, cleaning, and then reassembling both of her lightsabers in a failed attempt at a moving meditation.

When that hadn’t worked, she used a less traditional method of self-calming; under Aden’s supervision, so that they didn’t kill each other, she and Kenna had sparred twice, with both matches ending in a draw. Thankfully, the Sith had turned out to be just as bitchy and catty as she had expected, and was fully capable of giving just as good as she got, verbally and physically; Keaira’s blades stopped centimeters away from red skinned throat and belly, Kenna's own lightsaber angled to take her head, her free hand gripping Keaira’s wrist to keep the deep golden beam from slicing into vulnerable flesh.

She hadn’t even been winded after the second round, although her dark hair had started to fall out of the messy bun it had been in earlier; Keaira was almost tempted to ask for a third, before she remembered who she was talking to, and gone to claim the shower instead, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of her mind that had noticed something like concern in those red-gold depths as she left the cargo hold.

Those concerned glances kept getting worse as the week wore on, and she was even beginning to see that same thing in Tavarin’s eyes when he looked at her; she took to spending more time in the cargo hold or the room she shared with Aden, rather than continue facing those looks. 

Late in the cycle of the fifth day in hyperspace, Keaira felt the vibration of the plating beneath her feet change, and made her way to the cockpit, where Dral’Tiin was guiding the ship into realspace. The stars were just settling into pale, static dots as she crossed the doorway, slouching silently into the navigation console and tapping at the monitor. They had already passed the gas giant that was the first planet in the system, and were well on the way to the dusty green and brown ball of Corbos. 

As they got closer, she was able to make out the larger of the two satellites, a sulfur yellow that didn’t promise any sign of life, as well as the smaller white and green marble that was Edithae, growing closer both in the view screen and on the console in front of her.

“What’s the plan,” she asked without preamble, sensing and ignoring Tavarin, Aden, and Kenna crowding into the space. 

“Simple and easy,” the Kel Dor answered. “The Bucket has basic stealth, and so we’ll be able to get past any orbital defenses; we scan Edithae, locate Sharya’s ship, the temple, and the settlement that called for a Jedi, and go from there. We have seven and a half hours before we reach the satellite, however, so I believe the first thing we should do is have dinner, and update Granya and the Council.”

Nodding reluctantly, Keaira stood from the navicomp after checking the course. Seven and a half hours, and then they would have to wait until local morning to do a more thorough search of the northern hemisphere. 

“Godsdamn weird-ass moon,” she muttered as she left the cockpit. It was twenty-four hundred on the satellite, and it would be deep in the night by the time they were able to land. 

Her nose itched, and she stopped near the galley to scrub at it for a moment, her head bowed as she blinked uselessly. She hadn’t been able to cry in the almost eight years since she had lost her eyes, but she still felt the urge, at times.

Tomorrow, or the day after, they would find out what had happened to Sharya, and hopefully be able to retrieve her, untouched by the dark. If not, well. Keaira had meant what she said to Granya; if she had to kill her sister to save her, then she would, even as the thought broke her heart. 

  
  


_ ~fin _


	9. Wreckage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tiin Bucket has finally made it to Edithae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheeeeeeeeeee. uploading at night instead of late oclock in the morning is weird.
> 
> plot plot plot
> 
> tomorrow, i'll be reuploading the tweaked chapters, and will in theory have them all posted before i go to bed.

The green and white marble of Edithae proved to be just as cold as the snow capped mountains had promised, and Keaira growled when she dug her heavy cloak out of the bag she had left it in; it wasn’t like she had just gotten back from a mission to an ice planet before this, and could still feel the chill of the place in her bones, even though it had been almost two weeks since she left that frozen planet. Would it have killed the Sith to choose a nice, tropical planet to build a temple on?

She hadn’t been able to sleep much the night-cycle before, either, and had spent most of it shadow sparring in the hold, or staring out the viewport of the cockpit, the Mug forgotten beside her, while the others slept. Now she was even more annoyed by the sheer audacity of mornings continuing to exist than usual, kaff not helping in the slightest. 

Tavarin hadn’t even blinked at her being awake before him, simply choosing to refill the Mug without a word, stealing it from its place near her elbow and returning it while waiting for Aden, Dral’Tiin and the Sith to make their own bleary way to the galley for breakfast. Once they had gotten into orbit, around local two am or so, the night before had been spent scanning the satellite from space, finally getting a lock on not only the temple, but the few settlements scattered across the moon. After confirming the placement of the temple, and the settlement nearest it, they had landed well away from both, going to ground in a deep valley some hundred kilometers outside of the temple’s theoretical scanning range. 

They were going to have to move the ship to get closer to the settlement that had called for assistance, one Ashbourne Ridge, once everyone was awake enough to function. According to the Republic’s records, the tiny logging town had been settled for nearly a century, splitting off from a more southern colony upon discovery of the valuable silver ironwood groves near the temple. By that time, the Order's records said that the temple had been abandoned, which explained why the humans had chosen to build a town thirty kilometers southeast of the damn place. 

Breakfast passed by silently, the Sith conspicuously absent the whole time, only appearing after Dral’Tiin had settled the ship closer to Ashbourne Ridge. Keaira shot a glare at the woman as she wandered in, a bottle of nail polish in hand as she claimed a seat at the table, eyeing the Mug before raising an eyebrow at the near empty kaff pot on the counter. Not dignifying the unspoken question with an audible answer, she took a pointed drink from the oversized mug, before setting it back on the table to stare silently at Kenna, arms crossed over her chest.

The Sith wasn’t even dressed yet; she was still wearing sleep shorts and a brief camisole that didn’t even cover her navel, while the others had already shrugged on boots and cloaks, ready to brave the cold as soon as the Kel Dor gave the word.

“Do you really want me out there,” Kenna asked as she met Keaira stare for stare. “Because I can get dressed if you want me to.” She smirked a little, examining her nails before uncapping the bottle. “Of course, I would need to wait for my nails to dry. Don’t want to get polish all over my big girl clothes.”

Feeling her eyes narrow, she snorted at the tone, and stood from the table. “You can stay right here, for all I care. We need the locals to talk to us, not run screaming as soon as they see us.”

Grabbing her cloak from where she had draped it over the back of her chair, she stalked to the entrance ramp without another word. One last check of her pocket for the holo projector she had stuffed into it, and she triggered the ramp, shivering as fresh, icy wind crawled into the ship. It smelled like frost and a forest gone dormant for winter, and was infinitely better than the recycled air of the ship, even if the wind managed to cut through the heavy synthwool of her cloak. 

Exiting the ship, she took careful stock of the clearing they had landed in, flipping between light spectrums as she turned her head to check for any signs of close life around them. Heat signatures from small, darting animals in the trees above her, smoke rising in the near distance, and, when she clicked her tongue to activate her subdermal aural implants, the soft stealthy movements of the same animals were all she registered. Raising her head slightly, she glanced towards the smoke; she could faintly hear machinery, and so the settlement wasn’t too far away, if the rumble and groan wasn’t from a wandering logging team. It should be well within walking distance, and she was eager to get started.

Last night, just before landing, the Bucket’s sensors had picked up a large, metallic object crashed into a mountainside not far from the town. If Sharya had managed to escape the temple, she might have ended up there when her ship crashed, although her continued radio silence made Keaira think otherwise. Of course, if the Starwren  _ had  _ been shot down by the Sith, she might not have been able to even receive the messages from the Council, depending on how damaged the ship had been.

The others followed her down the ramp shortly after, and she let Dral’Tiin take the lead, preferring to guard their six, lightsabers secured to her belt under her cloak in a cross draw position in case of ambush. 

Ashbourne Ridge proved to be a mix of prefab and local ironwood buildings lining wide, slightly muddy streets of hardpacked earth that turned into duracrete a few meters into town. What looked to be a large general store near the edge of the place appeared to pull double duty as the shipping depot, with two medium sized duracrete landing pads tucked behind it; raw, silvery wood, cut into thick nine meter long logs, stood ready to be loaded into a waiting cargo ship, the engines humming softly. The other buildings were cantinas, various small shops, and homes, sparsely decorated, although many of the more homely buildings had small gardens along the south facing walls, likely to help with the cost of imported foodstuffs. 

Splitting up into two groups at the general store, Dral’Tiin with Tavarin, Aden with Keaira, they began the tedious process of working their way through the town, searching for anyone who had seen or heard of Sharya. 

Some three hours later, they had finally made their way to the small medcenter the town boasted, with not a single soul having seen a Jedi aside from the four currently wandering around. 

Amanna, the nurse that they had startled when she was leaving the medcenter, had shaken her head when they had shown her the holo of Sharya.

“I’m sorry, but no,” she answered, her kind face creased in a frown. “The only patient we currently have in-house is male, but he did come from those mountains. It’s possible he passed your friend, coming or going. Would you like to meet him?”

_ Dral, Tava, _ Keaira sent as they followed Amanna through the door.  _ We might have a lead. Get to the medcenter. _

_ Medcenter is where? _ Tavarin asked, but she could already sense them moving towards the clinic, and didn’t answer.

The interior of the building was a match for the worn exterior; silvery wood made up the floor and walls of the waiting room, dents and scuff marks on the floorboards telling that it wasn’t the durasteel hard ironwood, but something softer. Still slightly shabby, it was at least scrupulously clean, the desk tidy, despite the drooping plant in the window behind it. After glancing down the hall to see where the nurse led them, Keaira waved Aden on with a muttered, “Going to wait for Dral.”

Nodding, Aden stayed quiet as Amanna knocked lightly on the door at the end of the hall, entering when there was no response.

“Gavhar, dear,” the nurse said softly, going directly to the single occupied bed in the double room. “Sorry to wake you, but these people want to know if you had seen a friend of theirs while you were in the mountains.”

Snorting awake as soon as she raised the head of the bed, the solidly built man was hooked up to numerous intravenous lines, and had an oxygen mask strapped into place over his mouth and nose. The reason he was in the medcenter was obvious; his right arm was missing entirely, a neatly bandaged, but still bloodstained stump at the shoulder all that remained of the limb. Despite the strong, familiar scent of antiseptic trying to cover a cloying sweetness, Aden knew that the man was dying; his face was pale except for two spots of color high in his cheeks, and sweat showed on his skin, despite the cool temperature of the room. A curious, subtle glance at the chart attached to the side of the bed, and they knew why; late stage gangrene caused by severe frostbite, along with dehydration, and exposure to the elements, had brought the man here. 

Aden would have felt pity for him, if something about the human hadn’t immediately pinged their senses as ‘wrong’, and they resolved to take a closer look at his chart as soon as the nurse left.

Dark, drug glazed eyes stared at the ceiling before dropping down to squint at the nurse when she repeated herself, carefully rearranging the iv lines so he could move freely. 

“Sure,” he said in a wet rasp that spoke of a lung infection on top of everything else, shoving the oxygen mask to the side so he could answer. “I’ll talk to ‘em. C’n I have some pain meds, though? Arm’s hurtin’ again.”

“Sorry, dear, you just had some a little while ago, remember,” Amanna replied soothingly, before turning to Aden. “Please be easy with him, he’s had a very rough time of it. I’ll be out front if you need me.”

Nodding in thanks, Aden moved back so that the nurse could leave, and then looked at Dral’Tiin, who had finally made it to the medcenter, and was courteously holding the door open for Amanna as she left. Behind him lurked Tavarin and Keaira, both craning their necks to look in curiously. Shifting to the foot of the bed so the two had room to enter, snagging the chart and swiping through the sparse information—blood type, age, height, weight, but no mention of employment or even his homeworld, much less any untreated mental illness that could have set off their senses—they asked,  _ You want this, or should I do it? _

Instead of answering, Dral’Tiin stepped forward, careful not to loom over the human as Keaira was doing, orange eyes brightening and dimming unpredictably as her arms crossed over her chest. Shooting a look at her got them a raised eyebrow, but her cybernetics settled to a low glow, her force presence calming just as reluctantly. “Good morning, sir. Amanna told us that you were recently in the mountains northeast of here?”

Fixing his gaze on Dral, he gave a half aware nod, answering, “Yeah. I can’t ‘member much of ‘em, though, after my arm.” Then he focused a little more, gaze wandering down to fix on the lightsaber at his waist, and his expression darkened, something in his eyes going evasive and almost angry. “You ain’t Sith, are ya?”

Glancing at Tavarin without moving their head, Aden raised an eyebrow questioningly, only to receive a shrug. Somehow, he had spotted the lightsaber half-hidden under Dral’Tiin’s robe and cloak, something that most beings wouldn’t even notice, much less think to ask about, even this close to Sith territory. 

“I assure you, we are not Sith,” Dral’Tiin answered, ignoring the way Tavarin was easing back towards the door to close it. “Have you encountered Sith before, or Jedi?”

“Heh,” the human huffed, eyes closing as he let his head thump back onto the bed, and muttering into the oxygen mask, “Been around the galaxy a time or two, an’ I know those laserswords.”

At hearing the word Jedi, however, the steady, soft beeping of the heart monitor had increased, and Aden glanced up to frown at the display. Pulse rate, oxygen saturation, systolic pressure, all were rising in response to the word, and Gavhar’s face had paled even more, despite the apparent lack of concern in his voice.

“How did you lose your arm,” they asked in a careful tone, switching their gaze back to the monitor.

“Got caught in a damn rockslide,” he replied too quickly. “Had ta cut it off with a boot knife to get free.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dral’Tiin said next, head tilting slightly at Aden.  _ He is lying about something. _ Outloud, he continued, “How long were you trapped?”

_ I noticed, _ they answered dryly, glancing over at Tavarin again.  _ Can you sense what he’s lying about? _

The younger Jedi grimaced slightly, but nodded, not taking his eyes off Gavhar’s pale face. “Three, maybe four days? I think, anyways. Memory’s not really clear after the second night, y’know.”

“Before your accident, do you remember seeing another Jedi around here,” Dral'Tiin asked casually, and one clawed hand reached into a pocket, pulling out a small holo projector with Sharya’s image saved to it and activating it. A blue tinged holo that turned her violet eyes blue and darkened the honey blonde hair into a light brunette popped into being, a headshot where she was smiling at something off camera. “Her name is Sharya, and she was supposed to be in this area for a few days.”

“Sorry, Jedi,” Gavhar answered rapidly, drug glazed eyes widening slightly, and sweat breaking out at his temples. “Never seen her before.”

A short snarl from the door made Aden look back at Tavarin; he had stiffened, shoulders going back and hazel eyes narrowing, the force around him beginning to churn with a growing anger. 

“You’re lying,” Tavarin growled, not moving from his position by the door. He didn’t even have to touch the man to know, he was broadcasting it so loudly; Sharya's face was flashing in his mind, wide, tear-filled eyes above a black glove, hair shivering between a mangled cut that fell to her shoulders and the braid he was used to seeing. “You know exactly who she is.”

“Eh? Why’re you sayin’ that,” the human asked, shooting him a narrow, drug glazed glare of his own as he fumbled with the mask. 

“Because I can see what you tried to do to her,” he snarled, unable to stop himself. He knew it wasn’t completely his, but Keaira and the man both were simmering with sudden rage, the man’s tinged with fear at his words. He moved, taking the four steps required to grab his remaining arm in one hard, leather-clad hand, ignoring the pulse of hatred he felt and dragging the image directly from his mind. 

Two other armored, faceless figures were holding her against a metal wall, and his right hand was suddenly feeling the unexpected warmth of her sex as she struggled to escape his grasp; his other was aching with fresh imprints of her teeth, and her eyes went blank as she fell limp into his hold. “I believe your exact words were, ‘You better not bite again; all the boys will want a turn, it’d be rude if I had to break your jaw before that.’”

At his words, the room went utterly still, save for the sound of the man's harsh, wet breathing; Keaira moved closer, one hand almost closing into a fist, the force twisting around her. 

“Tell the truth, Gavhar,” she said in a low, force drenched whisper that made Tavarin shudder even as he released the man’s arm. Her eyes were beginning to glow brighter, her face settling into a stone-like mask of rage as she came to the edge of the bed to glare at him. “What. Happened.”

Face twisting, Gavhar's hand clenched onto the bed railing, before he answered, the words dragged from him by Keaira’s command.

“That bitch cost me my arm,” he snarled, abruptly leaning forward, knuckles white where he gripped the railing, eyes turning to glare at the holo in Dral’s hand. “I tried to fuck that little bitch and her fucking master took my arm for it!”

“What master-” Dral’Tiin started, stretching out an arm to block Keaira from the man; her shields were slipping, and Tavarin swallowed a growl of his own at the murderous rage pouring from her, his hand finding her shoulder in preparation of yanking her back at the same time.

He had already seen it, was trying to use the force to scrub the memory of his arm icing over as he watched, the look of vicious satisfaction in amber eyes sure to haunt his dreams. “Keaira, don’t-”

“The fucking Sith! That fucking Sith bastard in that fucking temple!!”

“Sharya is a Jedi, not a Sith apprentice, you liar,” she growled, ignoring the hand on her shoulder. The force was continuing to darken around her, and Tavarin glanced down worriedly to see that her shadow was beginning to shift, growing thin tendrils and reaching for the bed. 

“Keaira,” Dral’Tiin said sternly, turning his head to stare at her, not moving his arm from in front of her. “Go to the waiting room. I’ll handle this.”

“No, I think I’m going to stay right here, and see what this sick fuck has to say about my sister,” she hissed. 

Gavhar finally seemed to notice the danger he was in, but only to answer her rage with his own, leaning forward to leer at her.

“Sister, huh?” He wheezed. “Looks like she got the pretty part. She would have been gorgeous crying on my cock, but if I see her again, she won’t get that luc—“

Breaking off into desperate gasping, his hand abruptly scrabbled at his throat; Keaira was choking him, her hand outstretched and closing, and Tavarin grabbed at her with both hands even as he tried to snap the force grip she had on the man, trying to force her down before she killed him. What he was picking up from both of them was razor sharp, hatred a flood around her, while the man was suddenly afraid, his former lust tinged rage vanishing. “Keaira, stop it!”

It took Tavarin and Dral’Tiin both to drag her out of the room, while Aden struggled with their revulsion to try and stabilize the dying man, yelling for Amanna as they darted around the side of the bed. As much as it pained them, this disgusting being was the only link they had found to Sharya’s fate thus far, and he might have valuable information, unlikely as it was.

—

“Maura,” Dral’Tiin started, but she interrupted, waving one hand at him.

“I know, I know,” she sighed, leaning back over her nails; there was a reason she hadn’t even gotten dressed this morning, and it was only partially due to her deciding to paint her nails. “I’m staying with the ship.”

Responding to the brief flicker of concern she felt from Tavarin, who had paused halfway through the door, she explained without looking up from her half painted index finger. “I’m used to being the Order’s dirty little secret; people see me and think the worst, Jedi and civies both. Go on, I’ll keep the engines warm.”

She had moved on to painting her toenails the same glittery black by the time the rest of the team had come back, the Mug proudly sitting next to her nail polish as she waved the enamel dry, finally dressed in skin-tight leggings and what amounted to a tube top, barely long enough to hide the thin scars framing the tops of her breasts. She had also done the dishes from breakfast, as well as thrown a load of clothing through the sonics, carefully leaving out anything of Keaira’s that she had found. 

Tavarin sat himself wearily on the table, shoulders hunched, and face tight. Dral’Tiin leaned against the wall next to the door, while Aden paused long enough to get a cup of tea before muttering about needing to meditate, their pale green skin even paler. All she got from Keaira when she entered was a dirty look at the Mug, and irritation as she went silently to pour a much smaller cup of kaff.

“So,” she started carefully, capping the nail polish and taking the Mug in hand, winking smugly at Keaira. “How’d it go?”

“It didn’t,” Tavarin answered when no one else said anything. “There was a soldier there, formerly of the Sith temple, and also formerly living,” he added, turning a slight glare on Keaira. “He had seen Sharya, but he tried to rape her while she was in his custody. ”

“We also know she’s alive,” Dral’Tiin said in a low voice, the force around him carefully still. “And that Larec has already claimed her as his apprentice.”

There’s a muffled crack, and Maura slid her eyes to Keaira; the handle of her mug fell off in two pieces, leaving the brunette to grab at the cup before it could spill to the floor. Glaring, she slammed the broken, leaking mug down on the counter with a muttered, “Excuse me.”

Waiting until Keaira’s spiky, enraged presence had faded to the cargo bay, Maura looked at the Kel Dor, tilting her head a little. “She killed him, didn’t she?” 

“She came very close, yes, but the man was already dying,” Dral’Tiin sighed. “I worry that she will continue to find naught but darkness if she stays on this path.”

Pushing the Mug across to Tavarin, she stood. He took it with a nod of thanks, grimacing at the amount of sugar she used, but still slurped the kaff down.

“She doesn’t like me, but I’m going to try and talk to her,” Maura began to say, only to stop. 

A sudden  _ thunk _ of something hitting the distant cargo bay walls made the contents of the cabinets rattle, and Maura let out a sigh of her own. “I’ll try when she’s not wanting to finish murdering something.”

The other Jedi’s temper tantrum lasted through the afternoon, almost into the planet’s short evening, and when Maura finally ventured to the cargo bay, she was a little surprised to find Keaira kneeling in a pose of meditation, surrounded by the floating components of her secondary lightsaber. On the floor beside her was a small pile of rags and cleaning tools, and as she watched, the components began snapping together, smoothly recreating the plain, leather wrapped hilt. At least her lightsabers would be in perfect working order by the end of the trip; this was the third time Maura had seen her taking apart her lightsabers.

“I’m not in the mood, Sith,” Keaira growled out, but her voice was soft with exhaustion and grief.

Deciding to take herself down to Keaira’s level, Maura settled a safe distance away from the human, legs comfortably crossed under her. 

“And how do you know what I’m going to say, huh?” She asked mildly, her force presence open and calm. “We’ve been on this Bucket a week, and have barely said a civil word to each other in all that time.”

Across from her, Keaira opened her eyes at last, squinting suspiciously. “Fine, I’ll bite. What were you going to say?”

“That just because Sharya was called an apprentice in front of a soldier that tried to rape her, doesn’t mean that she’s fallen,” Maura said, keeping her tone neutral; Tavarin had filled her in on what he had picked up from the unfortunate soldier, grimacing and rubbing his right arm as he did so. “You know how dramatic Sith can be, and that’s what it probably was; a show of force to keep that guy in line, and not touch Sharya again.”

“Oh? And was that before or after the Defiler froze his arm off?” Keaira’s face was hard and angry again, the exhaustion shoved back in favor of glaring at her, finally taking the rebuilt hilt in hand. “That’s how the fucker got into a one bed medcenter in the middle of nowhere; he touched my sister, and the Sith who captured her punished him by freezing him.”

“Now what does that say to you, Kenna,” she finally hissed, clipping her lightsaber to her belt and leaning forward, one fist on her thigh. “Does that sound like a Sith protecting his apprentice, or a Sith scaring his captive?”

“That depends,” Maura answered, not backing down despite the rage building in the room. “Was Sharya there, or was she still in a cell?”

“I don’t know,” Keaira shouted, her tenuous grasp on her temper breaking at last. “I don’t know, and I can’t decide if it’s better or worse for her! Is that what you wanted to hear, Sith?!”

“Not really,” she said, letting Tavarin, the dear, know that he could stay in the hallway. Silly young man, thinking she needed protecting. It was nice of him to offer that support, however. “If she was nowhere to be seen, then he would have been saying it to fuck with the guy’s head, because he challenged the Sith’s authority by attacking a prized prisoner.”

Cybernetics dimming, the other Jedi settled heavily onto her heels; her anger was dropping, grief coming in its place. “And if Sharya was there, then she has fallen.”

“Or been forced to fall,” Maura corrected gently. “We don’t know what happened to her. Hells, we haven’t even checked the crash on that mountain yet.”

“But we’re about to,” someone interrupted, and they both looked up to see Dral’Tiin standing in the entry of the cargo bay. “There is snow coming on the wind, so dress warmly, ladies.”

Smirking, Maura stood slowly, making sure her hips swayed as she did. Behind her, Keaira snorted derisively, standing up without embellishment. 

“Why, Dral,” she purred, placing one hand on her hip. “I didn’t know you cared, you old softie.”

“I don’t,” he said, but Maura grinned cheekily at the amused note she heard in his low voice. “I just don’t want to hear complaints about being cold.”

—

The wreck on the side of the mountain  _ was  _ Sharya’s ship; Keaira recognized the Starwren immediately, and had to clench her fists to keep from giving into her worry. 

The tiny ship had been cracked like an egg, the back half missing entirely; snow had fallen since the crash, burying most of the debris under mounds of ice crusted white, and destroying any trace of a foot trail to or from the wreckage. Bundled back up in her cloak, and wearing the long robes she hated underneath it, Keaira was the first off the ramp of the Tiin Bucket, boots sinking through the windswept crust of snow, cybernetics dimmed against the glare from the eastward setting sun.

“Damn cold, weird moon,” she grumbled, stomping to make a path for the smaller Aden, who followed behind her. 

“I a-agree,” they muttered, shielding their eyes as they looked towards the Starwren and shivering violently, despite the two robes and heavy cloak they had donned. “Why d-did we have to land s-so far away?”

“I think it’s neat,” Tavarin piped up, sounding excited as he exited the ship; Keaira hadn’t known he was this much of an astrophysics nerd before this, and snorted. “Only a small number of systems have retrograde rotation satellites, and those that do usually captured them from another star system as it was forming.”

Interrupting Tavarin when he took a breath, the Sith—Kenna, she grudgingly corrected herself, forcibly reminding herself of her earlier, almost kind words—spoke quickly, before Tavarin performed an entire lecture on the formation of solar systems right there in the snow.

“Sweetie, this is fascinating, but can we just get to the ship? Some of us aren’t built for the cold!”

Wearing only a long leather jacket over his smuggler’s shirt and trousers, Tavarin blinked, mouth half open while Aden huffed a laugh into their hands. Kenna, dressed in a long, fur lined coat, had her arms wrapped around herself as she stepped gingerly into the snow, stepping into the trampled down path Keaira and Aden were leaving behind them. Tavarin finally decided to join, catching up and taking over the uncomfortable job of breaking through the ice to the wreckage, leaving Keaira to take a breather, and drop back a little, toes freezing despite the thick socks she was wearing.

“I told you to dress warmly,” Dral’Tiin chortled as he pushed past to be at the head of the pack next to Tavarin, ice crystals escaping from his rebreather. The Kel Dor had donned his silver-grey robes in deference to the cold, but otherwise seemed unaffected by it. As they got closer, he called back to Keaira, “Did Sharya ever mention having engine trouble?”

Shaking her head, she followed the lines of the ship, trying to figure out exactly how much of it was missing compared to what she remembered; the ship was small, barely big enough for one person, but there should have been a significant chunk of it somewhere close on the mountain. “Not that I can remember. She said the heating was a little weird, but bad heating systems wouldn’t have been able to do this.”

“I’m not seeing any kind of blaster marks, either,” Tavarin added, one hand shading his eyes. 

Up close, the wreck was even worse; fires had gutted the open end of the ship, turning anything not made of durasteel into molten slag. The hull and short stretch of visible hallway was scorched black from smoke, but she could still make out the shape of a burned out mattress and bunk through a rip in the metal. She had to look away for a second, jaw clenching; she wanted to climb into the wreck to search for Sharya just as much as she wanted to turn her back on it. 

If they found a body inside, after what that fuck had told them, Keaira didn’t know what she would do, although she was fairly certain it would involve massive amounts of property damage.

A hand gripped her shoulder, drawing her gaze back up from the pink glistening snowbank surrounding the remains of one wing, some half a dozen meters distant.

“What,” she asked flatly, trying not to glare at Kenna’s concerned look. “I’m fine.”

Accepting the obvious lie with a silent nod, the Sith stepped forward, stripping off her long coat even as she began shivering harder. “Trade me coats, Tava?”

“I don’t really think it’s my style,” he said dryly, but shrugged off his leather jacket and handed it over, folding her coat over one arm as he hunched his shoulders against the wind.

On Kenna, the hip length jacket ended at mid thigh, and she had to roll the sleeves up so her hands were free, but she still scrambled into the ship without hesitation, the leather protecting her from ragged edges of metal better than her cloth and fur coat would have. Boot heels tapping hollowly against plating, she quickly disappeared into the darkness.

It didn’t take her long to come back, and declare the ship free of bodies, although fires had raged in the cockpit as well, destroying every control panel just as thoroughly as the rest of the ship.

At the news, something in Keaira’s face relaxed even as something else tightened. Maura all but climbed back into her coat when he handed it back to her, red skin beginning to go purple at her fingertips, lips and nose. Aden sidled closer to wrap a fold of their cloak around her, the force surging gently around them as the two cuddled for warmth.

Now it was Tavarin’s turn to see if the ship had even been occupied during the crash, and he stepped up to the hull, pulling his jacket back on. Maura had excellent shielding, and hadn’t left much, if anything, of herself on the worn leather, something he was grateful for; there were far too many beings who could leave small chunks of themselves on things without even noticing, and it was always a pain—sometimes literally—to have to scrub the imprints away.

Even before he touched the ship, he could tell there had been no one on board during the crash, but he still tugged off one glove, walking around to touch the heat cracked transparisteel of the cockpit. The ship truly had been empty when it crashed down, with no imprints of panic, worry, or even concern left in the metal. Frowning, he crunched his way through the snow back to the open end, shaking his head.

“The only thing I’m picking up is nothing,” he said. “She came down empty, whatever else happened.”

“Are you sure?” Keaira asked, jaw working as she stared at the undisturbed wreck.

Shooting the other Jedi a look of annoyed understanding— _ not his _ , the force whispered, and he checked his shields again, muttering an apology—he grasped the edge of the broken ship. Climbing carefully into the snowy, frozen hallway and planting his bare palm against scorched plating, he touched the force, encouraging the Starwren to share what it remembered.

Beneath his hand, the plating whispered of many feet recently stomping through the tiny halls; they were strangers in black and gray uniforms, unwelcome hands poking and prodding before fire exploded in the engines, the ship falling to crunch against the unforgiving mountainside after a brief flight. Frowning, he dug deeper still, hunting for distinct trails, for shards of personality; a trail that had bled savage annoyance through the entirety of the Starwren turned out to be feminine; he could almost hear the rap of boots against plating, the crashing of dishware in the kitchen, and the heavy thumps of a mattress being flipped up against the wall, and the certain knowledge that something precious had been taken from each room before the destruction occurred.

Underneath that, the ship remembered Sharya, flashes of soft warmth crowding corners and feathery displays carefully added to—he had to blink as he pulled his hand away, dragging thin leather back over his fingers after scrubbing his blackened fingertips off onto his trousers. Granya’s padawan had loved her little ship, leaving her touch on every surface, and the ship had drank in the love, and the pain she had hidden from for the last year, becoming a haven for her; a memory of Sharya, curled into a ball on the plating outside her bedroom, tears running silently down her cheeks as she stared at the unactivated holocron in her hand, tried to stay with him, making his breath hitch in his throat even as the imprint was shoved aside by the more recent annoyance when he knocked against the charred wall on his way out.

“I’m telling you, Sharya wasn’t here,” he growled as he dropped from the ship, frustrated with an anger that wasn’t his. “There’s dozens of recent imprints left on this wreck, but none of them are hers.”

“Really? Then where is she?” Despite her earlier promise of being fine, Keaira’s orange eyes were glowing brightly, betraying the worry under the frustration. “We haven’t found a body, or tracks, she didn’t make it to the village, so what happened?”

Not bothering to turn around, Tavarin raised his voice, still struggling to shake off the residual savagery the imprints had left on him. There was something off about the feminine personality, though, like some part of her irritation was forced, and he couldn’t quite make out why. “Do I have to spell it out? She didn’t escape the temple, this was just a set up!”

“Which means,” Dral’Tiin said gravely into the silence Tavarin’s shouted words had left. “We get to break into the temple.”

—

Of the three Jedi who had gone into the Sith temple after it had been abandoned, to try and map out the behemoth structure for future generations to know and then destroy, only one had come out still sane and alive. One had died when encountering the still active automatic defenses, and the second had gone mad and thrown themselves into the wellspring at the bottommost level, leaving the third, Arabra Tavrus, to map what she could before leaving the complex, and the unrecoverable bodies of her teammates, behind.

The three had managed to cover most of the lower levels and entrances, even making it down to the wellspring, but the report ended abruptly after the entry revealing how the nautolan Jedi, Baan Zurfel, had dove headfirst into the dark spring, madly determined to find the bottom and destroy it. Arabra’s notes detailed the death, and her quick exit afterwards, leaving nearly the entire top half unmapped, and thus unknown. Luckily for them, the team had discovered and mapped all of the cell block levels, which meant they weren’t going in completely blind, and only the vast distance currently between her and Detluko’s pointed blue ears saved him from Keaira tearing him a new asshole for his hand in Sharya’s fate.

Granuille had had to go into the archives herself to find the report and subsequent maps, sending them straight to the Bucket in a subspace databurst the morning after they had investigated the Starwren, along with a terse message detailing the fact that while the maps had been in the archives, they hadn’t been accessed at all in at least twenty years. Her post script also let them know that this was yet more fuel for the fire she was building in order to get Detluko off the Council; the very fact of the Order having those maps, and those reports, and Sharya not having received any of it in her briefing, was damning evidence in light of her capture.

They spent far too long--according to Keaira, anyway--pouring over the skeletal outlines of the maps, trying to figure out where Sharya could have entered the edifice; hours more were spent haunting the thick forest around it that day and the next, visually matching the maps to the actual building, as well as trying to get a fix on how strong a force they were about to go up against. Finally, sometime late in the short afternoon of the moon, Tavarin pinpointed a service tunnel on the western side of the temple to be the one Sharya had used. He had to physically touch the building to confirm it, and darted back to the cover of the trees white-faced and shaking, the force cloaking his movements from any watching eyes.

“I never want to touch that place again,” he hissed as he collapsed to the ground. “Whatever is going on in there is hellish.”

Kenna nodded at his words, but didn’t take her eyes off the swampy looking tunnel mouth. “Did you see her?”

“Yeah,” he answered shortly, drawing the force around him before he made to stand. “She went in after nightfall, but I have no idea the exact time.”

“Tavarin, you are not going in there,” Dral’Tiin announced on the way back to the tiny valley currently housing their ship. “If it was that bad from the outside, you would fare far worse inside.”

“I have literally no problem with that plan.”

“I’ll do it,” Keaira said, unable to stop from glaring at the still-visible top of the building from where they stood. “If she’s still in there, I’ll find her.” 

That made the Kel Dor turn to face her, concern threading his force presence. 

Before he could say anything, Keaira switched her gaze from the top of the temple to him. “Dral, I’m the one that’s best suited to go in and look for her, and you know it; I’m the best slicer we have, and I can get her out just as easy.”

If it also allowed her to find and destroy the fallen Jedi, then that was just an unexpected bonus, and one that she would treasure.

“I’ll go in with you,” Kenna spoke up, and she snorted, heading back down the trail.

“It’s easier for me if I don’t have to watch your back as well as mine,” she said curtly. “Besides, you’re going to be the distraction.”

“I’m what now?”

—

Unfortunately, Dral’Tiin had agreed with Keaira’s plan, and in retrospect, it even made sense. 

Still, Maura did not like being used as bait, considering her entire career thus far had been one of subterfuge and infiltration; if her mother ever found out exactly where she was, she wouldn’t put it past the pink bitch to send a goon squad after her, and that’s if she decided not to come fetch Maura herself. It had been twenty some odd years since Devi had stolen her from their mother’s tender mercies, but everytime she talked to her older sister, she found out that Raziela’min was still searching for her, and getting closer each time Maura wandered into Sith or Hutt territory.

But Sharya might still be in the temple, still be light enough to want to be rescued and returned to Granuille, and one person skulking silently about in the shadows during a well planned attack was far better than two who might give away their position via arguing over who got to do what. She just hoped, for Sharya’s sake, that Keaira found her in the cell blocks; the other woman’s force presence was still dark with rage and unacknowledged fear, and she knew exactly how some Jedi could be about those who had turned to the dark, willingly or no. 

The basic plan was simple; Maura and Tavarin would would be a distraction on the eastern side of the vast structure, setting off explosives to seal the main gateway and draw the initial attention of the troops. Aden and Dral’Tiin would then launch an attack of their own on the smaller gate directly south of Maura and Tavarin’s, to bring the bulk of the responding soldiers solidly to the east, leaving Keaira free to sneak in through the gate closest to the swamp-mouthed tunnel Sharya had used, so as not to lose her trail. After drawing the attention of the troops, the others would slowly fall back, to give her that much more time in the temple.

The maps that she had copied would guide her to what should be the main databanks of the place, where she could slice into the systems and see what exactly had transpired the night Sharya was captured. From there, depending on what she found, and how well the soldiers had responded to the simultaneous attacks, she would either hide and wait to find Sharya, or leave the temple, with most of it smouldering behind her should she not find her sister.

—

Waiting for her cue, Keaira crouched in the deep shadow of an overgrown tree, the branches arching down to cover the ground, eyeing the single patrol droid that stood motionless by the gate, head turning slowly as it scanned the surrounding forest.

As soon as she heard a muffled boom from the far side of the temple, she darted forward with force enhanced speed, striking the droid’s head from its shoulders with one blow before shoving her lightsaber through the chest. Shorting out the gate’s control pad and cutting off the alarm before it could screech a warning was simple, but as soon as she stepped through the door, Keaira had to stop mid-step, gasping.

Even with the foreknowledge of the well under her feet, the very air weighed down on her, menacingly oppressive and heavy with the dark side. Gritting her teeth against a growl, she tossed two small remotes into the air and started down the hall, thickening her shields as she went. The remotes, programmed while she had been waiting in the tree line, darted forward with her, one following at a distance, the camera trained to watch her back as the second scouted ahead. 

Her cybernetics allowed her to jack into the remotes’ feeds, and all it took was a thought to continuously switch between the differing views as she ran. The comlink in her ear was already staticky with the sounds of battle and another explosion, the hum of lightsabers and blaster fire not quite enough to distract her as she ran through the halls. 

According to the maps that she quickly double checked with a soft click of her back teeth, a maintenance closet was just around the corner from the four way intersection she was paused at; maintenance had the best maps, she had found, even in half repaired, centuries old Sith temples. Taking the time to rip the printed flimsy from the wall, she scanned the level quickly before crumbling it in her fist and shoving it into a belt pouch, half her attention on the remotes guarding her back.

So far, the information matched what she had seen, and she started off again, ignoring the blare of alarms overhead and the intercom going off, calling for more troops to back up the overwhelmed soldiers at the eastern gates. An armory next to the lift she was about to take helpfully provided her with some extra detonators, and she took a second to sabotage the blaster rifles via lightsaber to the barrels. She would have destroyed the power packs as well, but that would cause far more of an explosion than she was looking for at the moment. As it was, slagging the controls and locking mechanisms for the storage containers would render the packs just as useless to any wandering soldier.

The lift was occupied when it responded to the controls, and she grinned; it wasn’t occupied for much longer after she darted through the opening doors, the three black uniforms in the lift too surprised to fight back. She had to hack the controls to keep it on this floor as she dragged the bodies into the armory, but then she was on the first sublevel, and matching another flimsy to the maps made by Arabra. 

Tapping three times at the comlink in her ear, she heard a staticky grunt of acknowledgement from one of the others, and continued on. Cursing silently when she had to back track to avoid a squad of running soldiers, Keaira took a second to reach out for Tavarin and Dral’Tiin; she had known them the longest, and their minds were far more familiar to her.  _ How’s it going out there? _

_ These guys are good, _ Tavarin sent back, his mental voice distracted as an explosion went off in her ear.  _ Might have to pull out early.  _

_ We have at most four minutes before the gates are cleared, _ Dral’Tiin elaborated, and she frowned. The original plan had given her a good six more minutes of the other Jedi being big shiny targets before escaping into the forest and to the rendezvous at the other side of the valley, but so long as she wasn’t careless, she should be able to—there. 

She had quickly worked her way to the heart of the level as she checked in on the others, and now stood in front of a large, locked door. Her little remotes were similar enough to the tiny, round maintenance droids floating throughout the temple to be ignored by any curious trooper that saw them, and had the added advantage of providing a moving block of white noise to trick the cameras into not seeing her, and now they watched her back as she sliced her way into the server room. 

An unfortunate techie, his hands buried in the guts of the databank nearest the door, looked up and paled as the door opened and she stepped through.

“Sorry,” she hissed as his eyes rolled back and he dropped limp to the floor. “Nothing personal.”

Releasing the force grip she had on his mind only after she had stolen the layout of the databank and temple from his memory, she went immediately to the biggest, shiniest server the room boasted; thanks to him, she knew this was the main databank, the one that controlled most of the subsystems of the temple, and also the one she would have gone after anyway. The walls of the room were crowded with antique panels and servers, while far more modern and sleek databanks were arranged in neat rows around the big server, and she felt a pleased, savage grin cross her lips; by the time she was done here, all these shiny new servers would be useless for anything except door stops. 

_ Sorry, not sorry, Sith Lord _ , she thought, leaving her remotes to guard the now re-locked door.  _ It’s very personal. _

Slipping around to the back of the databank to avoid immediate detection should someone make it inside the room, she used the port built into her left wrist to connect to the machine, quickly shoving home a number of blank datasticks; in a matter of minutes, every speck of information that had passed into or out of this server would be downloaded to the datasticks, starting with the communications systems. And if there was too much data for the sticks already plugged in, well, she had a pocket full of the things, just in case.

While the server hummed at her commands, beginning to download the insane amount of data the thing had accumulated in just the past two weeks, she started another search, this time going back to when Sharya had been captured, almost twelve days ago now. Her new mental map of the temple allowed her to rapidly find the hallway that the service tunnel was attached to, and then it was a simple matter of scanning through the security vids for that evening, waiting until Sharya had cut through the sealed service hatch to begin tracking her through the temple.

Her heart clenched inside her chest at the first sight of her adopted sister; Sharya hadn’t been prepared for the darkness of the temple, and it had affected her far more than Keaira, doubling her over helplessly and clutching at the wall for a long, worrying moment. Swallowing, she tracked Sharya through the corridors, ruthlessly forcing the camera feeds to change and shoving the footage into a new data stick that she plugged one handed into the databank. She didn’t have the time, or the desire, to watch this in real time, and so Keaira sped up the footage, slowing it only when Sharya was thrown into a wall by an explosion directly below her feet.

She started breathing once Sharya had moved, trying to drag herself to her feet before she fell again; it wasn’t clear if the fall had been in response to the blaster bolt shooting into the room, or if she had simply lost her balance, but Keaira cursed a blue streak as a purple haired woman in the mandalorian’s black armor stepped into the room. Apparently, the comlink had picked up her cursing.

“That’s not a good sound,” someone panted. 

“It’s not,” she hissed quietly, connecting briefly to one of the remotes to check on the hapless techie. Still unconscious, and she turned her attention back to the databank. The communications dump was going well, but a name popped out at her, and she grabbed at the report. “The mando from Dantooine captured her.” She paused, glancing over the report, and had to bite back another round of cursing, deliberately not watching as Sharya lost the nearly one-sided duel by being knocked unconscious again, only to wake up to the mandalorian molesting her; her shields slipped with rage when she noticed Sharya had been locked into a collar and a leash attached to it, the mandalorian using it to drag her through the halls. 

“And I just found even better news,” she continued bitterly. “Some ship called Orion was refuelled and restocked two days before we even left Ossus.”

“Force blast it,” Kenna growled. “Don’t say-you fucker!”

The rest of her reply was lost to wordless snarling, and a short, masculine scream. In the security footage, Sharya was shoved into a lift; quickly flipping through the multiple cell blocks when the lifts proved not to have cameras installed, she finally found blonde hair and creamy tunics being dragged behind a black armored bitch, and into a cell block on the seventh sublevel, only a handful of levels above the dark wellspring. 

Slowing the footage as the two entered the command center, she thanked the force for small favors; Sharya’s destined cell number was said loud enough for the cameras to pick up, but when she was all but thrown over the edge of the console by the hair, she had to bite her tongue to keep from snarling audibly. Letting the footage speed up as soon as the woman released the visibly terrified Jedi, she queued the footage for cell three-oh-eight, only to pause; she recognized the man swaggering after Sharya and ‘Smith’ and couldn’t bring herself to switch cameras.

Another shout of pain dragged Keaira away from glaring at the dead bastard as he pinned her to the wall, Sharya’s eyes going blank when her head hit metal; she sped the footage even more, determined to find out what had happened in the cell, only to belatedly pause when the mandalorian re-entered the command center. That had sounded like Tavarin, and she let it keep her attention for a second. “Tava?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, obviously not fine. “Dral?”

“Busy,” was grunted over the line. “You have one minute, then we’re retreating.”

“Fuck,” she muttered, checking the progress of her many datasticks; three had already been filled to capacity, and she yanked them out of the server, only to shove three more in. The datastick containing Sharya’s interrogation at the hands of the mandalorian still had plenty of room, but she didn’t know how long Sharya had spent in the cell, and refused to risk losing that in the shuffle of data. 

At some point after the mandalorian had left, the Sith arrived, and Sharya’s pained shrieking eventually began anew; he stalked around her suspended form in constant circles, touching her and pressing himself against her when he wasn’t gripping her butchered hair or wrapping a hand around her throat. Keaira had to switch out two more datasticks with a shaking hand in the time it took for the Sith to completely break Sharya. Shrill, high speed screams echoed in her ears, and a glance at the discrete time stamp in the corner of the feed let Keaira know it wasn’t her imagination; Sharya had been tortured for at least three hours before an audible, broken cry of “Master, please,” escaped her, the Sith’s smile savage and pleased as he leaned forward to kiss Sharya again, hands ruthlessly tearing the meager clothing from her body.

Her own hand suddenly aching made Keaira realize that she had punched a ragged dent into the casing of the databank, metal scratching deeply into her flesh. At least she hadn’t punched one of the datasticks.

“Damnit,” she hissed, but didn’t take the time to begin bandaging the wounds. On the comlink, the sound of battle had slowed; the others must have pulled back, which meant she was going to be on her own. 

She kept the cell’s feed going as Sharya was dropped to the floor, and the Sith draped his robe around her huddled form, watching as he led her from the cell, one arm wrapped possessively around her. She kept watching as the bastard lost his arm in a high speed display of gory power, as Sharya timidly followed the Sith through the bulkhead to the halls, head bowed and visibly shaking, her torn clothing hidden from view under the black robe. She followed the two to a lift, feeling something in her chest crack when her sister stepped back from the lift, and into the Sith’s arms, clinging desperately to him when he covered her eyes with a hand.

Abruptly remembering the order for the ship, she pulled it up, and switched cameras to the main hangar, speeding through the two days it took the Sith, the mandalorian, and Sharya to leave on a massive black ship, Sharya still draped in the black robe, and still pressing into the Sith’s side, her head dropping further and shrinking into herself as they left the camera’s view, and the ship rose. 

Her nose itching, she stopped the download of the security footage, yanking the remaining datasticks from their ports and shoving them safely into an inner pocket; the one with Sharya’s fall, she stuck into the cup of her bra, where nothing short of a strip search would find it. 

But she didn’t disconnect from the databank just yet; she had a virus that she had been playing with, and now was the perfect time to test it. Pulling a tiny datastick from a different pouch, she slammed it home, barely able to feel the vicious satisfaction of watching the coding of every system begin to fall apart into an incomprehensible mess. Her virus was beginning to spread rapidly through the temple, lights flickering in the halls as she left the server room; behind her, soft beeping counted down the time she had before this level suddenly got a lot more heated.

Not caring about being heard—the temple was empty of any who could actually stand a chance against her—she spoke directly into the comlink as she slung herself around a corner. “I’m leaving, get to the damn ship.”

Behind her, someone shouted, and she snarled again; the lift up and her way out was just past a solid bulkhead, one that slammed shut before the soldier could reach her, thanks to her lightsaber melting the control panel as she went through the door. Keeping a hold of the hilt but disengaging the blade, she made it to the lift just as a soft explosion went off behind the bulkhead and she lost the feed from her second remote.

But then she was on the ground level, and a slight handful of twisting corridors was all that stood between her and the thickly forested slopes of the western foothills. Calling on the force, she darted down the halls, feeling a rictus of a smile pull at her lips when the floor under her feet rocked, and half the lights went out, the others flickering feebly. 

In her ear, someone was talking, wanting to know why she was going to the ship instead of the rendezvous. 

“Just get to the fucking ship!” She shouted once she had escaped the temple, and begun climbing the foothills. She would loop around to the south first, before heading straight for the Tiin Bucket.

—

Somehow, Dral’Tiin, the stubborn old bastard, managed to talk her into going to the rendezvous point anyway. She still got to the tiny, clear stream three kilometers true west of the temple welll before the others, as they had tails to lose, and hers had blown up with the server room.

It took almost an hour for Dral’Tiin and Aden to show up, Aden scowling as they gripped one shoulder; the cloth under their hand was blackened and bloody, the force curled around the wound, knitting it back together even as they walked. The Kel Dor was disheveled and missing his cloak, silver-grey robes scorched by blaster fire, but otherwise appeared unharmed, and he waved wearily at her when he glanced up from picking his way along the thread thin path.

“Maura and Tavarin are almost here,” he announced quietly once he was close enough not to yell. “They had more of a tail than we did.”

“They also had more grenades than we did,” Aden muttered, sitting down on a rock close to the stream. “Where Tavarin kept them, I have no idea.”

“Good,” Keaira said shortly, before going silent once again. She had been pacing, and forced herself to stop and settle onto her own rock, not caring about the damp under her. 

Shooting her a concerned glance, Aden looked up from where they were now washing their hands clean of blood in the stream. “Do I want to know what happened, or should I just wait until you’re done throwing things again?”

Clamping her shields shut, Keaira bit her tongue and shook her head. She wasn’t about to start throwing things; not just yet, anyway. It would draw attention they couldn’t afford.

Just then, a branch snapping made her shoot to her feet, lightsabers igniting as she darted to stand between the still injured Aden and whatever was coming. Dral’Tiin had his lightsaber out as well, but didn’t ignite it. She only relaxed when a soft voice called out, “Friendlies, Keaira, friendlies!”

As she disengaged both deep golden blades, Tavarin and Kenna stepped out of the forest, Tavarin limping slightly, one arm over her shoulder. Kenna’s pale robes were far more scorched than his and hair had fallen out of her long braid, hanging limply into her sweaty face; she was still walking, however, and so Keaira didn’t care.

Stepping out of Aden’s way as they went over to examine Tavarin’s injury, she clipped both hilts back to her belt. “Dral, we need to leave. The bastard took her off planet the day before we left Ossus.”

Giving her a sharp look from behind his lenses, Dral’Tiin asked, “You have proof?”

Her barely controlled rage flared even higher at that, and she glared at him, feeling the force curl around her without prompting. “Yes. We are leaving. Now.”

Keaira didn’t say another word until they got back to the ship, where she went straight to the computer console in the cockpit and slammed the datastick home. Her hands were starting to shake from her rage, and she stomped on it when she saw Tavarin and Aden wince, throwing up as many shields as she could manage while she queued the footage stolen from the temple.

She left before it began playing, unable to watch Sharya fall a second time. 

—

After an almost intolerable amount of time spent together, Maura knew better than to stand in Keaira’s way as she stormed out of the cockpit, but the brunette didn’t seem to even see her as she moved; orange eyes frighteningly bright in her carved-from-stone face, she was gone before Maura could blink, the force dark and trembling around her. Frowning worriedly, she stepped back into the cockpit, craning her neck to see what the other Jedi had recovered while they were out playing target.

On the display, cameras were following a much older than she remembered Sharya Moonchaser as she slipped through a door, features creased in concentration. The thirteen year old she could last remember seeing had grown up, although she didn’t seem to be much taller; still petite, her heart shaped face no longer had the gentle roundness of childhood, cheekbones sharpened, almond eyes still the same violet. Her hair had continued to darken to honey blonde, and fell past her waist in a single long, complicated braid.

Moving silently, Maura squeezed in next to Dral’Tiin, catching his attention with a hand on his forearm. The Kel Dor had adopted Sharya and Lira as his nieces in all but name, training and caring for them just as thoroughly as if they were his own padawans, and while Keaira was ready to level mountains with her rage, she didn’t know how Dral would react to what was going to happen to Sharya in the vid. 

From Keaira’s behaviour, she already knew that the young Jedi had been broken, badly enough that she had left Edithae with Larec and his mandalorian accomplice not even two days after her capture, rather than be kept locked in a cell. 

As to how she had been broken, well. There was no telling what had been done to her, not until they had gone through the entire vid; the Sith Empire had long ago learned as many ways to break a Jedi as there were stars in the sky, but the way that it was done differed with every Sith Lord. Some used pain, or madness, or drugs and toxins that would drive beings into wild rages, forcing them to touch the dark side until the corruption itself turned them. Others would use physical and mental torture to destory a Jedi’s defenses, tearing them down until they died from the stress of repeated torture, or accepted the dark simply to escape the pain. She had even heard of some using nothing but pleasure, twisting desires against the being in question, and that was far more insidious; it became that much harder to convince a fallen Jedi to come back to the light if they had been broken that way, to return to a council enforced celibate lifestyle when they had tasted true pleasure for likely the first time in their lives.

Maura could understand that desire--she wasn’t dead, afterall, and had the toy collection to prove it--but the difference between choosing celibacy and being forced into it were two entirely different things. Larec’s methods in breaking her would determine if they could bring Sharya home to Granuille alive and happy, or broken and insane.

She knew of another option or two, but she would have to make a call, first. If it came to that, then Granya would have to come to terms with losing a third padawan to the dark, but at least she would still be alive, and possibly even happier than she had been as a Jedi--‘dark’ and ‘darkened’ did not mean the same thing as ‘evil,’ no matter what some of the idiots on the council thought.

Nodding his head just as silently, Dral’Tiin covered her hand with his own for a moment, but kept his eyes on the screen. The view of Sharya hiding herself behind the panel’s support column changed within moments of her tossing a metal plate aside; she was scrambling out from behind the panel, slapping together her datapad and shoving it into her sash as she ran for the door, face white with fear. There was a flash of light and fire, smoke belching up to block the lens, but not before they saw Sharya go limp after hitting the wall.

Hissing in a breath, Aden sat down when the soldiers backed away from her at the black armored mandalorian’s order, fiddling with the controls until they could hear what the woman was saying.

“-only if she looks like she’s running. Otherwise, back off. She’s  _ mine.” _

“Do I look like I’m running?” Sharya, voice shaking slightly, replied. 

Maura couldn’t help the proud twitch of her lips. The sassy thirteen year old had grown into a sassy young adult, even when trembling in fear.

“Oh, you're not wanting to run yet, little mouse,” the mandalorian said, moving smoothly to an attack stance. “But you will try, and I have orders not to let you leave the party.”

Despite an almost promising beginning, the fight was decidedly one-sided; Sharya retreating even as the mandalorian maneuvered her so that her back was to the door, black beskar armor continuously shorting out her lightsaber. The blows to the head she had taken were visibly affecting her balance even as she was steadily forced towards the hole in the floor, until she tripped on it, head smacking against tile. Watching as the mandalorian circled Sharya slowly, kicking her lightsaber out of reach, Maura’s heart skipped a beat; the woman straddled the unconscious knight, holding Sharya down by the wrists and forcing a long, hungry kiss on her. 

In the chair in front of Maura, Aden was muttering again. “Three blows to the head, two causing ten to fifteen seconds of unconsciousness, likely contusions from the wall along the upper shoulders and back, who knows how many cracked bones from the shockwave.”

“Is that a force inhibitor collar?” Tavarin asked in minor horror as Sharya’s belt pouches were cut from her waist, the cracked open datapad taken from her sash. On the screen, she seemed to shrink into herself as the mandalorian led her from the room on a too-short leash, closely followed by the still silent troops.

“More than likely,” Dral’Tiin said softly. He didn’t turn from it, but with the lenses covering his eyes, Maura couldn’t tell if he was still watching. 

“The mando,” she started, keeping an eye on the woman’s face. “She’s doing this to humiliate her. There’s no other reason to lead her around like a misbehaving pet.”

“She’s getting off on it, too,” Tavarin added, eyes narrowed. “I can feel it even through the camera. She’s enjoying this.”

The footage cut out as the two entered a lift, Sharya getting shoved into it after having the breath knocked from her. It picked up a few seconds later, the lift doors opening to reveal her on her knees just before the mandalorian dragged her up by the tunics. The halls they were walking through were filled with people who, as they noticed the mandalorian, quickly moved out of her way, catcalling and insulting Sharya as they passed.

“Fucking Jedi.”

“Can’t wait to see you later, sweetheart.”

“Hey, who’s the new meat?”

“I’d love to watch you choking on my cock, Jedi slut!”

Biting down a growl—disgusting men, how she wanted to teach them all a lesson—Maura released her anger at the treatment Sharya was receiving. She had to do it again when the mandalorian used the grip on her hair to knock her onto the controls of the cell block. The anger came back for a third time when a far too interested soldier followed ‘Smith’ and Sharya to the far wall, where she was tied to a ring in the metal and left on display for anyone walking into the control room to look at.

“And that was Joren,” Aden hissed, which made her wonder, briefly, what the man had done when they had confronted him; the healer had a temper, but Maura had learned that it was hard to set them off.

“At least someone decent was in there,” Tavarin commented at Smith’s words of protection.

“Naasade,” Maura muttered, feeling the need for a distraction. “What kind of name is that?”

“An odd one; it’s mando’a for ‘no one,’” Dral’Tiin said shortly. 

“There’s bruising on her throat now,” Aden announced, dark green eyes narrowed. “What happened in that lift?”

Some thirty minutes after she was delivered to the cell block, the officer stood, leaving Sharya alone with the troops to investigate a muffled  _ boom _ . Not even a few minutes later, there was another explosion, causing Sharya to jerk upright, darting towards the hall until the short leash stopped her. Looking past her, Maura cursed softly; the far too interested soldier was back, with friends, looking at a suddenly frozen Sharya.

Her mouth dropped open as she backed away from the group, but with the inhibitor collar and her hands cuffed behind her back, the younger Jedi was helpless to stop the sudden rush of soldiers grabbing at her. She was slammed against the wall, a hand covering her mouth the last they see before she was hidden from view underneath the unfortunate Joren. 

Luckily, Sharya was rescued by a stern, angry looking Smith, who had his blaster pulled out before he even left the hall, aiming it unhesitatingly at the ringleader, who slowly raised his hands, backing away from a violently shaking Sharya. She was untied from the wall, but still kept on the leash, the end finally tied around the arm of Smith’s chair. 

Her shoulders shook for a while, her bowed head slowly sinking until it rested against the officer’s leg. She didn’t move when Smith reached down to pet her hair comfortingly at one point, which told Maura that she was either asleep or unconscious again, but she woke quickly when the bulkhead of the cell block opened, apparently not even needing the hand touching her shoulder. Sharya’s silent panic made Maura’s heart clench in sympathy, but the knight seemed to get herself under control quickly enough, not flinching when Naasade gripped her chin.

“How badly is she concussed?” She asked, while the woman turned and lectured the guards, her recorded voice a growl. 

“Pretty badly,” they answered flatly. “She woke up when he touched her, at least, but the fact that she passed out in the first place isn’t good.”

The camera switched as the mandalorian dragged Sharya down a blindingly lit hall, and into a cell, laughing when the knight jumped at the creak of the door. She didn’t see the hypospray in time to dodge it, Naasade slamming it home in her upper arm; the effects were just as sudden, Sharya shaking as she began panting, demanding to know what she had been injected with.

They didn’t find out until after she had kissed Sharya thoroughly, hands invisible from the angle of the camera; the desperate, horrified sounds she was making let them know that whatever the drug was, it was incredibly effective as she tried to sink into the door to escape. The mandalorian was still talking, almost too low for the camera to pick up before Aden adjusted the volume again.

“-you sure, pet? Because it looks to me like you  _ do _ like being taken. If only you could have heard yourself earlier; you were moaning like a bitch in heat from a single kiss.”

The force around Dral’Tiin shivered, his anger beginning to escape his control, and Maura pressed against his side comfortingly.

At long last, Naasade explained the drug, and Aden grabbed desperately for a datapad, scrambling to take down notes. On the screen, Sharya was hyperventilating as the mandalorian molested her, begging the woman to stop even as she moaned and cried.

“Oxytocin, serotonin, nitrogen oxide, there’s no way she could have come up with that,” they growled as their fingers flew over the keyboard. “That woman is a soldier, not a damn chemist.”

“I feel like a pervert, watching this,” Tavarin muttered. He was flinching slightly, face creased in a concerned, disgusted frown. “Also, I failed bio science hard. What are those?”

Maura nodded in agreement, listening absently as Aden gave a short explanation of neurotransmitters, specifically the ones mentioned. 

“Serotonin is a base humanoid transmitter for what amounts to happiness, the same for oxytocin,” they said. “Oxytocin is more closely linked to love, and is usually released during sex; it also helps promotes bonding between people in a relationship, but both are feel good transmitters. Nitrogen oxide, though…”

They paused, frowning, not looking as Sharya’s tunics were cut from her body with her own knife, shaking with the effort of not moving. “There’s any number of things that nitrogen oxide does, it just depends on how it was synthesized. Either way, Sharya’s body would be highly sensitized, and she wouldn’t be able to fight or control the effects at all.”

“Wait, wait,” Maura demanded, reaching to rewind the footage. “She said something about working with Jedi.”

Ignoring the knife play the mandalorian was subjecting Sharya to, Maura listened closely, noting how the Kel Dor continued stiffening beside her, his force presence still tightly controlled.

“I used to work with Jedi, you know. I know exactly how much pain the average Jedi can take, I know how they are trained and how they think.” She paused to relieve Sharya of a second knife Maura recognized; it was one of a set that she had given to Sharya once she had mastered the knife fighting most often used by pirates and cheap assassins; quick, dirty, and messy. This second knife was pressed to Sharya’s throat, the razor edge just kissing pale skin.

“A mandalorian who used to work with Jedi,” Tavarin said incredulously. “She’s not lying, though I can’t believe she was Republic; the mandos would have killed her on sight.” 

“Not if she was dishonorably discharged,” Dral’Tiin said in a growl, and Maura glanced at him. “They would have welcomed her with open arms if she had tried to kill a Jedi. Pause that.”

Moving to the next display, the Kel Dor began typing, four fingered hands swift as he opened a connection to the Republic Army’s datanet. “How old would you say she is, Aden?”

“About early to mid thirties,” they said with a quick glance at the woman. “Height looks to be one point six meters, grey eyes, not sure if the purple hair is dyed or natural.”

“It’s natural,” he said flatly. “Ros Calynn, former captain of the 87th company, the Ash Angels; dishonorably discharged when she attempted to murder the Jedi leading her division on a mission to the Corellian system twelve years ago.”

At that announcement, Maura and Tavarin leaned over his shoulder, glancing over the personnel file Dral’Tiin had pulled up; originally from the planet Drall in the Corellian system, her last deployment was to that same planet to deal with a number of pirate gangs that had banded together. The Jedi in charge, one Tunarie Ganeeda, had purposely delayed the arrival of the company, despite the pirates holding several small settlements and villages hostage. His reasoning for the delay was to search for a fallen Jedi that was rumored to have been in the sector, as he considered the Jedi more dangerous than ‘a few pirates playing at being a warband,’ according to his testimony at Calynn’s court martial.

Sucking in a breath, Maura continued reading, eyes darting over the report. Aden had squeezed in under her chin, and she absently used them as a headrest. 

Unfortunately for one of the villages, the pirates had decided to teach the other hostages a lesson; they razed the village to the ground, killing or enslaving every being there. Once the company had arrived, three days too late to do anything but bury the dead, Calynn had snapped, attacking Ganeeda, blaming him—and rightfully so, Maura thought, scowling; the pirates should have been his first priority, not the ghost of a rumor about a fallen Jedi—for the deaths of the village.

A little further down, she found out why the woman had tried to kill him; Ros Calynn’s entire extended family had been there, trapped at the village after a wedding for one of her brothers, and none had survived.

“After being discharged, she disappeared into the unknown regions,” Aden read aloud. 

“It’s almost enough to make you feel sorry for her,” Tavarin said softly. Then his eyes darted to the other screen, where Naasade/Ros Calynn held a knife to Sharya’s throat while the other was pressed to her spine, and his voice hardened. “Almost.”

Between them, Dral’Tiin hadn’t moved, or said a word. The force around him was still, almost enough to disguise the anger coming through his shields. 

“I don’t want to stay sober for the rest of this,” Maura declared, standing up from her semi-comfortable slouch on top of Aden. “Anyone else feel like joining me?”

That got them all up and moving to the galley, where Dral’Tiin dug out his well hidden alcohol stash that she and Tavarin hadn’t been able to find, while she grabbed glasses and ice. She was serious about not being sober, and from the looks on Tavarin’s and Aden’s faces, they were, too.

—

The interrogation continued, on and on, and Maura had taken to keeping her gaze focused on the field projector beneath Sharya, while her second drink--a mix of rum, whiskey and something else that was dark--turned into a third. Tavarin had retreated to the other side of the room, wincing at every pained shriek coming from the speakers despite the thick shields he had erected when Sharya was thrown bodily into the containment field. Aden remained in the seat before the console, taking down notes and trying to calculate exactly how injured Sharya was, refusing to look up at the display.

Only Maura and Dral’Tiin could keep their eyes on the screen, and, even with her buzz tilting quickly towards drunk, she could only watch Sharya’s face for so long as she was tortured. Dral was silent, arms crossed, hands tight on his forearms as he watched his adopted niece begin to break under Calynn’s careful ministrations. The force around him remained coiled tight with his rage, but so far he hadn’t tried to lash out like Keaira was still doing in the faraway cargo hold.

Ros Calynn was disturbingly good at conducting interrogations; she laid the blame for everything she was doing at the Jedi’s feet, praising her when she got the answers she wanted, and punishing her with shocks seemingly at random. She kept the control for the containment field in plain sight for Sharya, fingers stroking the casing and buttons, until Sharya was flinching at the very sight of it, violet eyes wide with terror. She just as quickly learned her tells, the way she took a too-deep breath before trying to lie, the twitch of her fingers when a question struck close to home, verbally pouncing on the slightest hesitation she presented. 

She also kept dangling the threat of slavery or death in front of Sharya, running possessive hands down her body when she talked about the Council abandoning her, not caring if she lived or died, and Maura felt her lips rise in a snarl as the words visibly sank into the younger Jedi, her face crumbling into a deep despair before the mandalorian shocked her again. 

“Who did you lose, pretty Jedi?”

Sharya’s response in mandalorian still made Maura proud as Dral’Tiin broke his long silence to translate, even as she ached for the younger woman. 

_ “I have lost no one, traitor,” _ she said in a low hiss, a shaking, still defiant smirk crossing her lips. 

_ “Cute, pretty Jedi,” _ Calynn answered, triggering another charge into Sharya.

After that, Calynn left, the cell door closing with a final sounding  _ thud _ . On the screen, Sharya’s head bowed as she finally released her terrified sobbing, shaking in the containment field’s embrace. It was a good while before she managed to stop crying, the time stamp in the corner showing that Calynn had taken her time in the interrogation; they had entered shortly after twenty seven thirty, and she had left almost two and a half hours later.

“Aden, darling, can you pause that,” Maura muttered as she stood. “I need something harder to deal with what’s coming.”

Because she had seen the telltale ripple in front of the cell door, light from the hall hitting something that blocked it from Sharya’s sight, and she had a very good feeling they were about to see Larec Rivers enter. 

Tavarin followed her out to the galley, watching silently as she went after a bottle of cloudy rotgut buried in the very back of the coldstore, the only bottle Dral hadn’t touched during their earlier raid on the alcohol stores. At her questioning look, he started to shake his head, then paused, and nodded.

Pouring out a generous shot into a glass, she passed it over before taking a slug directly from the bottle. 

“Gah,” she sputtered, scrubbing at her lips while the alcohol burned its way down into her stomach. “That was definitely made in someone’s ‘fresher.” 

Turning to lever herself onto the counter, she tilted it back again, feeling her lips and tongue go slightly numb. Across from her, Tavarin leaned against the table, staring at the glass in his hands. 

“I’m going to take a wild guess,” she started softly, not looking at the other Jedi just yet, instead staring at a scorch mark on her robes. It kinda looked like a very fat blaster rifle, complete with trigger, and she wondered absently when she had gotten it; she didn’t remember getting hit by anything there. “You’re one of the lucky few who haven’t faced torture yet, right?”

Wordlessly nodding, he raised the glass, only to pause. “Sipping drink or toss it back?”

“You did just watch me drink this, right,” Maura asked dryly, taking a third draw before capping the bottle and pushing it aside. Yup, drunk was now the thing she was feeling; in fact, she miiiiight need help getting back to the cockpit if she didn’t start to filter out the alcohol with the force. Fuck that; she was staying drunk until this nightmare they were watching was over with. After that, she would deal with the filtering. “Don’t let it hit your tongue if you like tasting things.”

“I’ll let you know right now, honey,” she continued, still softly, sympathy in her voice. “It won’t get any better when Larec comes in. It’s ok to bow out.”

Making a face as he knocked back his own drink, Tavarin coughed before replying. 

“No,” he managed, plunking the glass down, cheeks now faintly pink under the beard. “I couldn’t do that to Granya, or Sharya. And I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror if I left now.”

“Besides,” he continued with a bitter grin, even as his force presence shivered with slight horror. “I might be able to pick up what he was planning to do with her.”

“You sure?” She glanced down at the floor, one hand clenching on the edge of the counter when it felt like she was beginning to slip. 

“Yeah,” Tavarin said. 

“Ok,” she breathed. “Help me get down from here, this counter is suddenly  _ very _ tall.”

He moved to grab her when she tried to stand, one arm supporting her as they walked back to the cockpit. 

—

Sharya's interrogation and torture at Larec's hands was far more visually anticlimactic when compared to Ros Calynn, while also being infinitely more disturbing; at first, he didn't even touch her, simply speaking to the near silent knight while she shook and squirmed in the containment field. 

It took careful observation to realize that the Sith had actually been using the force to touch her, that her constant shifting wasn't truly a physical response to his words; the cameras in the cells had better resolution than even the main cell block, allowing them to see exactly how he was shifting the force around Sharya; her camisole and leggings, the only clothing left to her by Calynn, were moving, the fabric bunching and shifting from invisible stroking hands. 

It may have been an accident, but Maura was sure that the Sith knew exactly how she had been touched by Calynn, and was purposefully echoing what had been done to her; cupping her breasts and sex, stroking every spread limb, all the while using her butchered hair to control where she was looking. He was also using his ice at the same time, lowering the temperature in the cell until their breath was steaming visibly, making Sharya shake ever harder as he laid out every detail of her mission to Edithae, forcing her to apologize multiple times when she insulted the Sith, and when she tried to bite him.

Leaning back, arms crossed firmly over her chest, Maura tried not to be sick as the torture turned even more sexual, revealing an expertise that was alarming; he had broken down her defenses in multiple ways before he ever even kissed her, using every scrap of information he could pull from Sharya without her saying a word—that she was a sentinel, that Lira was her sister, that she truly had desired to exact revenge on the Sith in front of her—to further unsettle and hurt her, making it worse when he stumbled upon her sexual fantasies.

“Dral,” Maura said softly, still using her crossed arms as a self hug. Sexual torture  _ was _ covered by Jedi training, but this kind of torture, turning desires against the one being tortured, the same way Calynn had tortured her… The young Jedi might be able to recover from this, but the damage was going to be deep, and long to heal. “Did you know? That she wanted to kill him?”

The Kel Dor stayed silent so long that Maura thought he would never answer, before hissing into his rebreather, slowly shaking his head. “The last I knew, she simply wanted to find Lira. She never said anything, not to Granya, and not to me. It’s possible that she mentioned the desire to Keaira, but...” 

A tilt of his head back towards the now ominously silent cargohold. “She might not be ready to speak about anything, just yet.”

On the display, Larec had bent his head to Sharya’s neck, murmuring just loud enough for the audio to pick up before biting her, eliciting another reluctant, dazed sound from her. “You won’t last much longer, my beautiful little Jedi. Soon, you will belong to me.”

The abrupt change from sexual torture back to pain startled Maura into glancing back at Tavarin.

The psychometric had retreated once again to the far side of the cockpit, and was staring out at the starry night sky rather than look at the display; the force was curled tightly around him again, trying in vain to shield himself from the recorded agony. There was a reason Granuille had wanted him on the team to search for Sharya; his incredible gift for psychometry meant that he could pick up impressions from almost anything, learning the past of an object with a touch; the torture he was witnessing, when he himself had never faced it, was just as damaging to him as it had been to Sharya. 

Aden had moved from their seat in front of the display, gratefully swapping with Maura after the first alcohol break; datapad still in their hand, they also glanced at Tavarin, wordlessly raising one arm in an invitation to cuddle for mutual comfort.

Larec had inadvertently told them the fate of the other stolen padawans, and the phrase ‘retraining purposes,’ had made Maura shiver; she could easily imagine what ‘retraining’ the poor Jedi had been put through, as her own mother would do the same to her, if she ever got her pink hands on Maura again. But Tavarin had known both Bela and Hosra, had trained with them while he had been at Dantooine. Accepting the datapad from Aden when Tavarin finally moved over to sit next to them, Maura made sure that an underlined note was placed near the top of the page, where Aden’s observations on Sharya’s physical condition still dominated. 

There was a miniscule chance, but it was just possible that a future team of Jedi might be able to hunt down the facility the padawans had been taken to, if they sent along every scrap of information they could get. It would be far, far too late for those lost, but if it could help save future padawans and knights from this same kind of pain, of knowing that their dearest friends had been forcibly turned into weapons by an uncaring empire, she was going to write down everything, by hand, on flimsy, if she had to. 

The Sith had also mentioned a ‘mistress’ of some kind, although Maura had all but heard the capital letter, and started another document, this one to herself. It was past time that she started keeping a separate set of notes that she would send to a private inbox on a distant server. It would help later, saving Devi some time and frustration when it came to hunting down Larec. He had all but confirmed Keaira’s earlier words of taking Sharya off Edithae, but there was still—a glance and a jiggle of the cursor brought up the remaining time on the recording—force. 

Sharya still had another hour and a half of torture before the vid ended. 

Using the same jiggling motion to pause the vid, she stood up, and retrieved the bottle of rotgut from the galley without a word. She was starting to feel her tongue again, anyway.

Still silent, she passed the more than halfway full bottle to Aden and Tavarin when they both nodded, eyes hooded by sympathetic pain for the Jedi onscreen. 

—

The rest of the torture was watched in an uneasy silence, broken only by the Sith’s snarling words and Sharya’s whimpers for mercy, for an orgasm, for an end to the torture.

The bottle made another few rounds, hitting the halfway mark and then dipping below that. Even knowing how deeply she would regret it in the rapidly approaching morning, she accepted the stomach destroying alcohol again when Sharya finally broke, her raspy voice calling the Sith master as she begged for him to let her come.

Tavarin, far less sober than he had been, glared blearily at the screen as Larec offered Sharya a deal; one more orgasm, and then the torture would stop. He would give her one more orgasm, and, in return, she would accept him as her master.

“Bullshit,” Tavarin growled, raising one hand to point accusingly at Larec. “You wanted her t’ refuse. You  _ wanted _ t’ keep hurtin’ her.”

“He’s a Sith, Tava,” Aden said, their own voice slurred. “It don’t matter if he was a Jedi, he’s a Sith now.”

“Yeah,” she said thickly, agreeing with them. “Dark an’ evil are differ’nt, anyway. You can be dark, but not evil, but t’is guy? He’s evil.”

Larec, behind her where she had turned to slur at Aden and Tavarin: “Do you remember what will happen if I let you come?”

Sharya’s hoarse, clearly terrified response: “I-no, Master, please, I don’t, please, I’m sorry…”

“That.” She said firmly, eyes narrowing as she spun around in the chair, absently catching at the edge of the console. “That’s wha’ the fuck was waitin’ for. He was waitin’ for her to forget, but still give him permission. He’s a twisted, evil fuck, Dral.”

“He already ripped her an’ Granyll-Granuia—” cursing, Tavarin broke off, before finishing with a triumphant sound. “Ganya. Their bond. He ripped it apart, an’ tied himself inta it. We can’t kill him.”

Moving only her eyes, since the cockpit was swimming gently, she looked at Tavarin. “How’d you know that?”

He snorted, and leaned against Aden’s legs where he had slid to after his second pull on the bottle, arms crossing as he glared at the screen. “Ya din’t hear that thing tearin’? It was screamin’ so loud, an’ the force wasn’t havin’ it. It had to be fixed. He fixed it.” 

Another glance back at the display, where Larec had switched roles yet again; from torturer to lover to comforter, he pulled his robe off without hesitation when Sharya began having a visible panic attack, curling into herself and hyperventilating at the mention of Calynn, dropping it onto her shaking form and waiting for her to snap out of the attack.

She managed it after pulling it off her head, glancing up from the robe in her hands to Larec before tugging it on, hiding her torn garments and bruised body under black cloth before attempting to stand. The Sith had all but torn the clothing from her, snapping one of the straps on her camisole and just about ripping it in half; her leggings had been rent down almost to one knee in his effort to get at her sex. There was no way for her to hide her shorn, mangled hair, or the bruises around her neck, much less the bloody scrape and tear stains on her cheeks.

“And she completed it,” Dral’Tiin finished for the younger knight, as Larec moved to press his lips against Sharya’s, stopping another panic attack before it could happen. “It is a pact now, and he is bound to her.”

“That,” Tavarin said needlessly. 

\--

The sight of an arm being flash frozen and then disintegrating into tiny chunks of ice was what brought up the rotgut curdling her stomach, and Maura glared at herself in the ‘fresher mirror once she had finished worshipping the bowl. She had spent almost her entire adult life in Sith territory; she knew full well what they were capable of, had seen it with her own eyes. Horribly damaged and mangled bodies drawing back together again, powered only by hatred and rage until the head was destroyed, beings brought back from the dead, shrieking and clawing at themselves as they were torn from the embrace of the force, shoved back into bodies that should never have breathed again. She had seen rapes, she had seen murders and executions, and public torture.

She had faced her own torture, when a Sith acolyte with more power than brains had found her sneaking into the academy on Korriban. She had managed to overpower him and escape, but there were still scars on her breasts from where the bastard had decided to use knives instead of the force. He hadn’t been so enamoured with blades once she had cut his dick off and left him bleeding in a locked tomb. 

“Pack it up, Kenna,” she whispered to her reflection firmly. “You’re on a mission, you can’t cry or break down just yet.”

But this was closer to her than she was used to. She had known both Sharya and Lira from the years that Granuille had been teaching her, even though they hadn’t been near as close as Keaira; Sharya had learned how to properly use knives in a fight from her, just before Maura had been knighted, back when she was still using her force illusions to hide her more Sithly attributes from the Jedi surrounding her; Lira had turned down the same lessons, but had still watched on occasion, surrounded by medical texts and cheering when her older sister scored a hit on Maura.

To see that bright, sassy, confident young woman so thoroughly broken, knowing that Larec had already won the first of the battles for Sharya’s soul…

Sharya might still want to come back to Ossus. She might not have actually gone through with accepting his offer of apprenticeship, despite the short clip of all three climbing aboard a sleek black ship; the Sith had mentioned giving her choices, there at the end after he had released her from the containment field; to stay with him or return to Ossus, as well as mentioning going to Korriban to see Lira. However, from Tavarin’s read of him, it was obvious that he wouldn’t allow her the choice to return to the embrace of the Order.

And besides, Sharya might not want to leave, especially if her sister had already accepted the dark, as Larec had said.

They just had to find her, and see what state her torture had left her in.

Like she had told Aden, Tavarin and Dral’Tiin, ‘dark’ did not mean the same thing as ‘evil’.

Either way, it was also past time for her to call Devi. 

In the morning. 

When the ship around her didn’t think it was on a tossing, raging sea, instead of safely tucked away in a valley far from the Sith temple.

Turning away from the mirror, Maura grabbed at the door frame. Sweet, sweet alcohol, always there to make her fall for things.

Snorting at the unintentional pun, she headed to the tiny room she shared with Tava. She had an appointment to keep with her pillow and a garbage bin. 

  
  


_ ~fin _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Crossing Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Dromund Kaas, and to hangover town, population, the Bucket Crew.
> 
> porn in the first part, with minor plotty bits sprinkled through out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate this chapter, it was such a bitch to write. i have rearranged so many scenes in this thing before saying Fuck It and throwing them into another chapter. ugh. 
> 
> but the porn was fun. 
> 
> poor Sharya, stuck in the middle of two sadists. she likes it, tho.

Over the years, Larec had found that the cost of maintaining a private berth directly on Dromund Kaas was well worth the credits spent, if only for the fact that he didn’t have to fight his way through the massive crowds of the orbital station, and then the spaceport, just to get to his apartment situated halfway across the continent-sprawling megalopolis of Kaas City. He still had to contend with traffic, but that was a constant in every major city, and not even the scrupulously run empire could do anything about it. As it was, being able to keep the Orion and an airspeeder in the same hangar meant that he got home a little faster, and without having to deal with thousands of other beings for untold hours.

It also meant that Sharya would have that much more time in relative isolation from the rest of the galaxy, with only himself and Naasade for company. The unexpected detour to Chad had provided more than enough time for her to learn to welcome their hands, although he would be the first to admit to a small amount of surprise; he hadn’t expected Sharya to beg for his touch as a distraction from her depression until they had been well away from Edithae, let alone the very night she had accepted her place as his apprentice. 

He’d still spent a good portion of that first week gently nudging her into sleep whenever she was curled against him or Naasade, the action helping to convince her subconscious that she was safe in their company; the gratuitous amounts of sex, however, had done far more towards that goal, even more than being dressed in their clothes, their scents mixing together to solidify that sense of safety. The young woman had one hell of a libido, even though she was still hesitant to act on those desires, preferring they take the lead instead.

Sharya’s surprisingly easy trust in him was just as heady as that first morning and was something that she had given over each time she leaned against him, and with every moment she accepted his hand around her throat and the sensation of his mind against hers. Naasade had also been given that same trust, although it had been slower for the mandalorian to earn; she had made a number of small missteps in those first few days, accidentally triggering panic attacks that left Sharya shaking and withdrawn for hours after, unable to bear any but the most innocent of touches. 

A look at the blonde head snuggled against his right shoulder and a light touch on the bond let him know that Sharya was currently absorbed in watching the city around them, one hand tight on the holocron that had followed her from Ossus, the other curled into his tunics at the thigh. Wordlessly pulling closer when she felt his regard, she didn’t take her eyes from the lightning streaked sky around them, watching the cloud scraping towers flow by. She hadn’t released him since they had stepped onto Dromund Kaas, even though her shielding had proven more than capable of keeping the darkened aura of the planet from doing anything more than frightening her with its intensity. 

They were just passing the edge of the Nexus when Sharya shifted towards the window of the closed airspeeder, eyes locking onto the distant spire of the Imperial Citadel as she shivered. 

"What’s that building," she asked softly, not taking her eyes from the lightning lashed tower. “It feels so dark.”

“That is the Imperial Citadel, the residence of the emperor, and also where the Dark Council convenes,” he answered, looking down at her again. While the force remained incredibly dark around the spire no matter the time of day or night, they should have been far enough away that she shouldn’t have felt it; he reminded himself again to get her empathy tested as soon as possible. “We’re going to have to go there at some point soon, so that you can be confirmed in the public records as my apprentice.”

“Public?” She turned back to him, frowning in confusion. “You mean people can just get into them?”

“Empires do tend to run on paperwork,” Larec said blandly, draping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her back to his side to wrap his shields around her, and further muffle the darkness for her. “Records regarding Sith and their apprentices are a part of that. Of course, special permission from the Council is required for normal citizens to access anything more than the name of the apprentice and the master they trained under.” 

“Oh,” she mumbled, tucking her head against him as she relaxed slightly. “So, they wouldn’t be available on a military base? Or a ship?”

“If there’s a Sith Lord working from the installation, there might be a redacted version, but not usually. Lira went straight to Korriban, however, and so her records wouldn’t have been accessible anywhere except at the Citadel.”

At the mention of the planet, she shifted, head lifting as if she was trying to decide what to say before she ducked back down; he didn’t even have to reach for the bond to know she wanted to ask about when they would be going there. “Soon, my apprentice.” 

Nodding against his arm, she went quiet once more, content to be held as the spire shrank into the distance. It still loomed huge and dark over the rest of the city, but they had soon passed out of casual view of the Citadel, Naasade continuing to pilot the familiar course to the edge of the culture district one-handed. Not long after, they reached the tower that housed Sharya’s new home, dropping into the line to the speeder hangar and waiting their turn to land. 

Grabbing the single bag he had brought with him from Edithae, he took Sharya’s hand as they made their way to the lift, not minding how tightly she gripped his fingers the closer they got. There was a moment of hesitation on her part when the doors hissed open, the force going tense around her as she stiffened, breath quickening slightly. Flicking his eyes at Naasade and ignoring the small handful of other beings climbing into the lift around them, he moved off to the side; the mandalorian gave a slight nod in response and slipped an arm around Sharya’s waist under the robe she had claimed from him, dipping her head close to nuzzle at honey blonde hair as she comforted her.

He could almost hear the silent conversation she was having with Sharya, a faint buzz in the back of his mind echoing from the bond as she pressed even closer to him, shivering. 

_ Take all the time you need, little one, _ he sent, releasing her hand to cup the back of her neck and squeeze gently when she pressed her head into his chest. _ The apartment isn’t going anywhere. _

It took a few more minutes for her to finally nod her readiness to enter the lift and pull away, fear still making her eyes wide and her face pale as the doors hissed open again. 

Luckily for Sharya’s nerves—some of the beings in this tower were Sith who had chosen, like he had, not to live in the floating mansions in the next district over—the next lift was empty; taking advantage of this, they continued soothing her, pulling her back to lean against his chest while Naasade tucked her head close; she grasped onto the woman’s shirt with white-knuckled fingers as soon as the doors closed, still shivering.

“It’s okay,” Naasade murmured, carding a hand through her hair. “Not much longer now, we’re almost there.”

By the time the lift stopped on their floor, far above the hangar, they had eased her trembling to the occasional shudder, although her grip remained almost painfully tight on them. All but scrambling free as soon as the doors had parted enough for a body to slip through, she darted away to stand in the middle of the deserted hall, her head bowed and arms crossed protectively around her middle, breathing hard. 

Jerking slightly at the touch of his hand on her shoulder, she took a deep, shaking breath before glancing up. 

“How much longer,” she began, tears standing in her eyes. “Am I going to keep panicking? About being in a lift?”

“It may be some time,” Larec answered truthfully, shifting so that Naasade could step close enough to wrap her in a hug, tugging Sharya’s head back down into the curve of her neck. 

“I’m sorry, mesh’la,” she said softly, one hand curling around the back of her neck in the same comforting gesture he had used earlier. “It’s my fault for doing this to you.”

“You’re too good at being scary,” she agreed in a quiet sniffle, releasing her middle to clutch at Naasade’s shirt. Her knuckles weren’t as pale as before, the fear still leaking into the force around her diminishing the longer they stood there.

Rumbling softly, Larec turned her head enough for him to press a kiss to her forehead. “We will work on your fears, until they no longer affect you so, my apprentice.”

“And guess what the best way to do that is,” Naasade said, grinning mischievously even as she ran calming fingers through her hair, tilting her face for another reassuring kiss.

No longer looking quite as likely to break, she pulled away to scrub at her eyes with the side of her fist before answering, “What?”

“Desensitization therapy in the form of orgasms.”

That made Sharya pause for a moment, head tilting curiously before she squeaked in realization, cheeks flushing, and Larec felt a grin of his own spread his lips. “The lifts can be stopped at any time here, and we can take as long as we want.”

Squeaking again, she leaned into him, embarrassment coloring the force around her. “But, what about other people?”

“I’m pretty sure at least half of them have fucked in a lift at some point in their lives,” Naasade replied blandly, still grinning as she tugged Sharya close, turning her towards the end of the hall. “Also, there’s plenty of lifts in this place, they can always find another if they don’t feel like waiting.”

Larec and Naasade’s home was close to the end of the high ceilinged corridor, apparently taking up the entire corner of the tower; as soon as they had entered, Sharya was immediately drawn to stare out the window of the gently rounded living room, not paying attention to where Larec and Naasade disappeared to. She had known they were high up in the tower, but she hadn’t realized how far until she saw the airspeeders flowing by the living room, darting through the lightning that still clawed the sky around them. A quick glance downward made her look right back up again; the ground was dizzyingly distant, making it impossible to discern anything on the streets far below them.

Still, she continued watching out the window, curiously examining the other, taller towers around them until Larec called for her. Glancing away from a mansion that she realized was floating mid-air—she thought it had simply been built into the steep hillside behind it, until she noticed its faint up and down movement—she moved to follow him up the stairs next to the foyer.

“This is your home now,” he explained as they climbed, reaching through the bond when she couldn’t stop a spike of nerves at the thought. “The only place I’ll ask you not to enter will be my study, but otherwise every room is open to you.”

Nodding, Sharya grabbed onto the strap of her duffel when it threatened to slip from her shoulder, still looking around her curiously. 

This ‘apartment’ was huge; the wood-floored living room’s ceiling was fully two levels high, with large, oddly placed windows built into the otherwise blank wall above the dining room; sleek black leather furniture crowded comfortably around a viewscreen set against the window that faced the strange, floating mansions in the near distance, with a huge round ottoman in front of the circular couch in place of a table. The kitchen that she had looked into briefly was all dark wood cabinets that reached to the ceiling, the black and gray-streaked marble on top of the island a match for the backsplash, while the counter itself was white, providing a pleasant contrast to the otherwise overwhelmingly dark room. The sparsely furnished dining room separating the kitchen and living room had a wide column next to the wall of windows, supporting the room above it; the walls that weren’t composed of windows were bare of decoration, and painted a calming bluish-grey.

The wide stairs they were going up now were carpeted, and she wondered absently if the creamy carpet was as soft as it looked; faint impressions of Larec’s boot soles were left behind on each stair, and the same proved true for hers when she checked behind her. Upon reaching the second floor, she realized that the windows built into the wall above the living room had been put there to let in as much natural light as possible; if not for those windows, the second-floor hallway would be as dark as a cave, the light blue of the walls lost in shadow. 

Letting her hand trail along the wall as they walked, she quickly had the layout of the apartment in her head, so far as the floor plan went. A large, empty space was tucked past the wall at the head of the stairs, while a room that leaked just as much embedded lust as the trunk took up the far corner of the apartment. Remembered pain also slipped from that room, and she shivered at the combination, praying that it was just as welcome as the lust, and not some strange room that Larec used for punishments.

Another room that felt like Naasade, and thus far more welcome than the second one, was behind the stairs, and the faint scent of ozone, metal, and oil told her that there was a weapons room of some kind next to the mandalorian’s bedroom. The room that felt most strongly of Larec turned out to be the one supported by the column in the dining area beneath them; obviously the master bedroom, the platform bed was huge, the wall behind it painted silvery grey in contrast to the berry red comforter and black sheets peeking out from under it.

She couldn't help but blink at the large shipping crate on the other side of the bed when she noticed it, glancing at Larec uncertainly. He was dropping his bag on the bed, but grinned at her when he noticed her eyes on him.

"That would be for you," he said, nodding towards the crate. "Go ahead."

“Really?” She asked disbelievingly, before looking back at the container.

An entire crate? 

Letting her own duffel drop to the floor next to the bed, she went to poke at the controls, blinking again when the lid slid open to reveal neatly folded clothing; at first glance, everything was black, but when she started digging past the light, fluttery tunics, something purple deeper in the box caught her attention. Draping the tunics—they looked to be exactly her size—over the edge of the crate, she found that the purple thing was in fact a robe, made of the same material as the one she was currently wearing. Curious, she shrugged off that robe to try on the new one; just as heavy and sinfully soft as Larec's, the inside lining was a light purple that matched the piping along the cuffs and hems, the black fabric textured under her fingers. Grinning happily when she found deep pockets on both the outside and inside of the robe, she kept it on as she continued to go through the crate.

Camisoles and socks in jewel tones, leggings and thin- and thickcloth trousers, more tunics, and under tunics were inside it, in different weights and types of cloth; things made of light fabric that wouldn't leave her feeling smothered in the humidity she had briefly experienced in the hangar were at the top of the container, with heavier things that would keep her warm in colder weather packed towards the middle. But everything she touched was soft, and there was a lighter twin of the purple robe folded above the winter clothing that proved to have just as many pockets as the lined robe. 

Once she reached the bottom of the crate, she looked back at Larec questioningly; there were two more boxes tucked into a corner, beneath the unexpected splash of color from the camisoles and socks, and she dug out the larger of the two. 

"That's for you as well," he answered before she could ask, moving to the door to the left of the bed; a light flicked on, and she saw that the door was hiding a ridiculously large walk-in closet, with one rack festooned wall empty of clothing. "Try them on, they should fit."

Inside the box was a pair of knee-high black leather boots, ones with a solidly chunky heel that would make her at least three centimeters taller. Laces crisscrossed the front of the boots, tying neatly at the top, and she wasted no time in yanking her boots off, noticing anew the worn toes and scuffed brown leather that she had memorized while tied to the wall in the cellblock. The boots did make her taller, enough that when Larec wrapped his arms around her from behind, he didn't have to lean down as much to rest his chin on her head.

When she checked, the second box held another pair of boots, these rising to just above her ankles; the heels were still solid and chunky, even though they were shorter, and had zippers on the instep, along with decorative silver buckles at the outside. 

Both pairs of boots fit perfectly, and she turned in his arms to bury her face against his chest, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. She realized then that she hadn't quite come to terms with what being Larec’s apprentice would mean; that he hadn’t been lying when he said he would be taking care of her just as much as Granya had cared for her and Lira. For some reason, she had anticipated having to buy replacements for everything that had been lost with the Starwren on her own, or at least keep wearing Naasade's comfortably worn-out clothes until she could get to a market of some sort. That worry, that fear of having to find a way to buy even the most basic of necessities, when she didn’t have a single credit to her name anymore, began to leak away.

Alarm flared briefly in the bond when she started crying into his tunics, and his hold tightened on her, one hand curling around the back of her neck. 

A slight scuffing noise made her twitch while she sobbed, but then Naasade was touching her as well, calming her further, and she turned slightly, leaning hard into the two as they held her broken pieces together.

—

After Sharya had finished crying from a bizarre mix of gratitude, still fresh sorrow, and disbelief—how was this her life now? No longer able to lay claim to the title of Jedi, forever banned from setting foot on the planet she had been raised on on pain of death, apprenticed to the Sith that had broken her and her sister so brutally… And yet, somehow, she was still ready to try and rebuild her life with the two people who had hurt her the most in the galaxy, twice over—she managed to settle her new clothing into place in Larec’s… her... their closet, and unpack the small duffel at last to throw the now empty thing into a corner. Her holocron found a permanent home on the mantle above the fireplace built into the wall across from the bed, the crystals and unbroken feathers from the Starwren arranged along the slender shelf, while the small device projected memories into the space above it. 

Larec and Naasade stayed with her the whole time, Naasade shamelessly making him use his height to hang up the clothes after they had strung them onto wooden hangers, and refolded the camisoles and socks to fit into the drawers lining the wall under the racks. Compared to the amount of clothes Larec had, hers only took up slightly more than half of the empty wall, although her clothing had far more variety in terms of color; some of the heavier tunics had proven to be extremely dark shades of blue, red, green, and purple, that could pass as black at a casual glance. There had also been a number of sashes and belts neatly packed away next to the boxes holding her boots, and some part of her that was missing the comforting weight of her tunics, sash, and belt relaxed; she would be able to at least dress like she had as a Jedi, even if she could no longer call herself one.

Unwilling to try and find something productive to do afterward, Sharya wound up taking residence in a squashy, overstuffed recliner that she dragged into the rounded corner of the living room. Larec and Naasade had decided to spar, allowing Sharya the chance to steal the shirt he discarded when she followed them past the kitchen and into the surprisingly large gym that made up the other half of the apartment’s first level. Stripping off the shirt she had been wearing before, she had pulled his on and watched for a few minutes, before retreating to the living room again. There was a drizzle of rain falling on this section of the city, and she would rather watch the tiny, sparkling rainbows form and dissolve than listen to Larec’s snarls of effort as he and Naasade darted across the space, both using practice blades instead of lightsaber or live steel.

She had done the same for the few times the two had sparred on the Orion, hiding away in the lounge or bedroom instead, curled around a mug full of tea and tucked under her blanket, still somewhat unable to separate her caring master from the utterly terrifying Sith he had been when they first met. She was getting better, however; some of the noises he made when pounding into her or Naasade were similar to the snarling demands she remembered from the cell, and she was slowly losing that fear in favor of arousal. 

At some point between her first and second cup of tea—the tea had been in the cabinet above the sink again, and she chose to use the force to get the box down, rather than climbing onto the slick marble counter—in the squashy recliner, the two had finished their spar and disappeared upstairs to shower and change, Naasade pausing long enough to tilt her head back and kiss her breathless. Larec had waited almost patiently for his turn, but she had let out a mock growl when he pinched her ass to make her move, making Sharya giggle even as he claimed her lips in just as long and demanding a kiss as Naasade’s. 

Soft movements behind her let her know when they had come back downstairs, but the setting sun was sending thin beams of light across the shimmering city, striking a few last rainbows from the remaining drizzle; she had fallen into a light meditation almost without notice, the extra shields on the apartment buffering her from the dark presence of the planet, and letting her float in the force without being afraid of the dark around her.

A few minutes after she sensed them come back down, Larec called for her. “Little Jedi.”

Blinking awake from her meditation, and pulling herself up at the sound of his voice, Sharya uncurled enough to look around the chair back, curious. Somehow, the title didn’t hurt when he said it, despite the still healing wound in her heart.

“Yes, master?”

Standing and moving to the black leather ottoman at Larec’s silent gesture, she glanced between the two before sitting. Naasade, just now settling comfortably onto the couch beside Larec and curling her legs under her, had a short glass of amber liquid in one hand, and her grey eyes were guarded; but there was a grin pulling at the corner of her lips that helped reassure her, and the glass she was handing over to Larec was half full of the whiskey he liked when he sat back and watched her and Naasade. Nerves fluttered lightly in her stomach at that realization, and she wondered what was about to happen. Larec didn’t keep her in suspense long.

“We’re going to do something different, tonight,” he started softly, eyes glowing. “You are going to play with yourself until you come, while we watch.”

Blinking, Sharya felt a blush immediately begin to heat her cheeks at his words, and darted a look at the tall, clear windows, where night was swiftly darkening the color streaked sky. 

“But. The windows,” she began hesitantly, only to trail off when his lips spread in a predatory grin.

"Are one way, and no one can see in," he purred, but Naasade still shot him a look, and snagged a remote from the couch, pointing it at the windows that made up the corner of the living room. A soft beep, and the glass abruptly darkened, the lights overhead brightening slightly in response, until the remote dimmed those as well. "We can also do that, I suppose," he finished dryly, still grinning.

Turning back to the two, Sharya still felt her shoulders try and hunch down. While she finally felt confident enough that she would cling to them both during sex and cuddle relatively fearlessly with them, she had yet to actually initiate sexual contact; the long years of Jedi training and mindset made her shy away from starting anything, even when she ached with their shared arousal. To actually touch herself, on purpose, was something she also hadn’t done; the few times Larec and Naasade had tried to guide her into caressing herself, she had done her best to pull away, cheeks flaming with embarrassment and a vague sense of shame, and she couldn’t help flushing harder as she asked, voice slowly rising to a nervous squeak, “What do I. I mean, should I. How?”

“You know what feels good to you, and what our hands feel like,” Larec rumbled, gaze heated. “Pretend it’s us touching you.”

“And later, we’ll have our turn,” Naasade purred, a smirk of her own curling her lips. “We still haven’t used that gag yet.”

At that, Sharya could feel her blush spread down to her neck, and the mandalorian chuckled, eyes going half-mast. “This is just as much for you as it is for us, kitten. We both like to watch you come, and now we want to watch you drive yourself wild. Start slow. Cup your breasts, play with those cute nipples of yours, and see how hard they get.”

Now she was blushing so hard it almost hurt, but she nodded, licking dry lips as she scooted further onto the ottoman, legs curling under her. Hesitantly raising a hand to cup her breast over her shirt as told, thumb brushing lightly, she was surprised to find her nipples were already hardening, and under the nerves of, of _ performing _ like this, she could feel herself getting just the slightest bit slick. Glancing back up at them for reassurance, she swallowed a squeak at how their eyes were locked on her, the bonds she shared with them lighting up with desire; continued use of the threads Larec had woven between her and Naasade while on the Orion had strengthened them, turning the slender strands into a quasi-bond that thrummed in her head and she shivered at the arousal spilling from both.

Her hands were still wanting to tremble as she squeezed tender flesh, fingers brushing harder against her nipples than she meant to and drawing a near-silent gasp from her. Shifting slightly, thighs pressing together, she did her best to ignore her now painful flush as she continued stroking and teasing her breasts; she almost didn't want to, here on Dromund Kaas, but the habit that had grown in the safety of the ship, to drop her shields and share her desire more fully with Larec and Naasade, drove her to thin the walls surrounding her and reach out to them.

Naasade hissed softly at that, eyes going even darker, while Larec's grin widened, and he slouched back into the couch, draping an arm around Naasade's shoulders. The hand not curled around her glass was beginning to toy with the growing bulge between his legs, stroking lightly and sending a bolt of lust straight to Sharya's sex, making her moan softly, eyes shutting.

Feeling Naasade’s hand on him when she didn’t have the corresponding parts herself was entirely odd, but still very pleasurable; phantom fingers ran lightly across her clit when she teased his head, slipping in between her lips to rub at her walls as her grip slid down the shaft. If Naasade had been physically touching Sharya, she would have easily been able to slip strong, slender fingers into her, gliding effortlessly and she moaned again at the realization. Her own hand had trailed down to her belly almost without her noticing, tugging the edge of her shirt up so she could dip her fingertips under the waistband of her leggings.

Actually... She paused, and glanced back at Larec; that _ wasn’t _her hand beginning to caress her folds, because she still had both hands above her waist, fondling her breasts. The corners of his eyes crinkling with how widely he was grinning, he slouched into the couch a little further as he raised his whiskey to his lips, only to suddenly hiss out a curse and glare at Naasade, grip tightening on the glass. Sharya let out a gasp of her own, hips jerking at a flash of pain near her sex, and switched her gaze to Naasade as well, feeling more confused than hurt.

“What,” she asked unrepentantly, going back to stroking Larec’s length again, a smirk in her eyes as she winked at Sharya. “We said no touching, and that’s not changed.” 

“I don’t care,” he rumbled, finishing his sip of whiskey and turning back to watch her, “I’m leaving you on Edithae for a month if you do that again.”

“But, master,” she started, only to groan and tilt her head back before she could finish her protest, eyes fluttering shut; a hand had formed around her throat, and from Naasade’s soft gasp, the same had been done to her. 

“Take off your shirt,” he ordered, using the force to move Naasade’s pinching fingers further away from his balls and ignoring the soft grumbling the woman projected when her wrists came together. He did at least save her brandy from falling, snagging the glass from her grip and settling it on the further couch arm, safely out of the way. If she was going to play dirty, he was going to play dirtier, nevermind that he had been the one to start it.

Sharya’s response to his command was a soft whine, but her shirt came off, revealing pale breasts tipped by hard, peaked nipples, faintly marked with reddened fingerprints and imprints from their teeth above an hourglass waist; more crescent bite marks peppered her shoulders and clavicles, and one hand wandered up to press lightly against the dark, near-permanent hickey at the join of neck and shoulder, drawing soft sounds from her as she toyed with it. He wasn’t sure which of them had begun biting that particular place on her often enough that the bruise refused to fade, but she didn’t seem to mind it and would lean hard against them when they sank their teeth into it, her head falling further to the side as she whimpered and groaned.

He let the force grip he had on her throat loosen, just enough that she could suck in a gasp, the hand still on her breast clenching; she had begun to pant for breath, and while he was more than happy to indulge that particular kink of hers, the goal for tonight was not to make Sharya dizzy and orgasmic from lack of oxygen and control. The true goal was to get her over her hesitation about touching herself, to make her realize that she was allowed to enjoy the feel of her own hands, and not wait for permission from him or Naasade. She would, however, still have to ask permission to come. For now, at least. The night was still young, afterall.

Her knees spreading, she shifted on the ottoman, hesitating only a moment before a finger dipped beneath the waistband of her leggings, beginning to follow the path he had started before Naasade had interrupted him. Her flush spread down her neck when her hand disappeared entirely under the fabric, and she ducked her head, eyes shut as she stopped caressing the bitemark in favor of her breasts once again.

Sharya was surprised by how wet she had gotten, just from the feel of her hands on herself; she was so slick that she fumbled when she tried to find her clit among the yet unfamiliar folds of her sex, struggling to remember what Naasade’s clever fingers would do to make her cry out in pleasure. Desire and arousal were curling through her, trying to distract her from what she was doing; it was echoing from the two watching her, their excitement driving her higher as she dropped another layer of shielding.

_ Circles, _ she managed to think, mouth dropping in a moan. It was circles that Naasade used, firm strokes around her that pressed harder at one side than the other, alternating with featherlight rubbing at the clit itself, and she couldn’t stop her hips from jerking as she finally got the rhythm down, breath beginning to come in hitching gasps as the hand at her throat tightened again.

“Look at me,” came a soft rumble from in front of her. 

Shivery heat ran down her spine to coil low in her belly at the order, and she opened her eyes to see gleaming gold and storm cloud grey watching unashamedly as she worked herself ever closer to orgasm. Naasade’s hands were still held in master’s force grip, pinned to the couch between them, and his cock was straining against the fabric of his trousers; she wanted their hands on her, but they still hadn’t moved from the couch, and she was so close…

“Are you ready to come, kitten,” Naasade purred, leaning into the hand that Larec was tangling in her hair. 

“Mm-hm,” she whimpered, fingers faltering. “Can I-“ she broke off with a tiny, breathless cry, eyes clenching shut; she had almost slipped inside herself on the last downstroke of her fingers, and she realized that she was aching, inner walls beginning to clench desperately on nothing. Forcing herself to look up, thighs trembling, she whined, “Please can I come?”

“Come for us,” one of them said, but she was already tripping over the edge, struggling to keep her fingers moving through her brain short-circuiting, and couldn’t tell who had spoken, only that she had permission, and no control left.

Sharya came back to herself hunched over on soft black leather, twitching through aftershocks as she panted, her head bowed. Before she could uncurl from her ball, a hand wrapped itself in the hair at the back of her head, tilting her up so Larec could nip at the thin, sensitive skin over her windpipe, dragging a needy, gasping moan from her. On the couch, Naasade growled; his breath hot against her neck as he chuckled, Larec otherwise ignored her, instead purring, “My turn,” as he forced her flat, his bulk settling solidly in between her spread legs.

“Hey, no fair,” she faintly heard, but his tongue was in her mouth and his hand yanking her leggings down over hips and thighs, wicked fingers trailing along her drenched slit and making her even wetter when they brushed against her still pulsing clit.

_ I’m insulted, _ he said mildly, not sounding offended in the least as he slid two strong fingers into her, unerringly finding the spot that set fireworks off in her head. _ How dare you accuse me of being fair. _

If Naasade said something in response, she didn’t hear it; jerking at the sudden pleasure, her arms darted to curl over his shoulders, pulling away from his mouth to cry out; Larec was playing with the bond, twisting her arousal even higher as he worked his fingers deep inside her, alternating between pistoning in and out and pressing firmly against that spot. The addition of a third finger drew a louder cry from her, the pressure against her walls so soon after orgasm sharp enough that it almost hurt, even as it eased her desperate need to have _ something _ inside her.

His teeth found the mark she had been playing with earlier, biting down as he continued fucking her with his fingers, growling into her mind, _ You’re so hot and wet around me, my apprentice, still _ so tight _ . I’m going to make you come until you _ beg _ for me to stop. _

“Oh _ force _ ,” she managed to whimper, head dropping to thump against the ottoman; whenever Larec said that he was going to make her beg, he _ meant _ it. “Please, master.”

A spike of pain shocked her when his smallest finger joined the others tormenting her, but pleasure from his thumb rubbing hard and fast against her clit quickly swamped the hurt, and she wailed, fisting his shirt in desperate hands. An echo of her wail made him chuckle darkly into her shoulder, moving to press small, nipping kisses up the line of her neck; she hadn’t felt his hand inside her like this since the cell, but she couldn’t tell if he was doing the same to Naasade via the force, too lost in her head to focus on the other woman’s pleasure. Forcing herself to release her white-knuckle grip on his tunics, she wrapped fingers in the hair tickling her cheek and tugged slightly, wanting his mouth on hers to muffle the sounds she was making from the pleasure-pain of being stretched so, of being made to take almost all of him.

He growled at the light pull, releasing the ear he had been nibbling to shove his tongue back into her mouth, his hand working between them to drag the second release of the night from her and devouring her desperate cries.

Naasade was released after their fourth orgasm, the mandalorian gasping for breath; she had been forced to come each time Sharya did, and she _ ached _, wanting something hard and solid inside her. Joining the two still on the ottoman, she leaned over the Sith, grabbing at his hair to force his head to the side and sink her teeth into his neck, her other hand closing on her kitten’s heavily marked throat. That drew a vicious snarl from him, and Sharya let out a soft, breathless moan at the echo, her back arching. 

“My turn,” she hissed, after biting a dark, toothy mark of her own onto him. 

“Not yet, it isn’t,” and she abruptly found herself side by side with Sharya, pinned to the ottoman, one leg hanging off. He moved before she could try to get up, trapping her leg under his as he leaned back, eyes bright with mischief. He still had a hand inside the girl, his other reaching for and yanking Naasade’s loose lounge pants down; the force wrapped around her wrists, keeping her pressed to soft leather so he could work a hand inside her, fingers already slick with her arousal as he utterly ignored her clit, brutally dragging an orgasm from her as he pounded into her with wicked precision. 

“Fucker,” she managed to gasp out, switching to mando’a, and then huttese as he concentrated solely on her, leaving Sharya panting beside her as she recovered, curling into a ball and shaking. “_ Teasing son of a fucking bastard, not letting me-” _

She broke off with another cry, arching helplessly.

“I’m not teasing,” he smirked as he watched her wriggle and moan desperately. “I am simply not done yet. Sharya, do me a favor, and shut her up.”

That got her to uncurl from her ball, turning onto her side to look at her, hesitance in those violet eyes as she moved; she still leaned over to press lips against hers, scrambling for a handhold when her hand slipped off the edge, fingers grabbing onto her shoulder. Naasade growled weakly into the kiss, but opened her mouth anyway, determined to get _ something _ from this; Sharya was more skilled than she had been, and a tongue flicking into her shot a bolt of lust straight to her sex, making her squeeze around Larec’s fingers. The hand that had been inside Sharya pressed against her belly to keep her still when her hips bucked in response to another finger slipping into her; he was leaving wet streaks on her skin, and she groaned, her arousal sharpened at the thought of him leaving marks on her with Sharya’s fluids, utterly filthy and so unbearably hot. The bastard knew exactly what that was doing to her, and he continued to radiate a smug satisfaction as he worked both of them into puddles on the ottoman, over and over. 

Needless to say, the gag Sharya liked didn’t get used that night, although Naasade still had no idea when or how they managed to get up into Larec’s bedroom, where he finally took his own long-awaited pleasure out on both of them, switching only when one or the other cried for mercy from his snapping hips and wicked fingers, eyes glowing in the half-light of the room.

Sometime later, Sharya was weeping, held in place overtop Naasade, her head bowed as she fought both Naasade’s hands and Larec’s force grip on her, kept on all fours on the rumpled comforter as he pounded hard into her. Naasade smirked at the desperate sounds she was making, never minding the echoes threatening to drag her over the edge again, and used her grip on Sharya’s hair to keep her close enough to sink teeth into the curve of her neck, her other hand locked around her bicep. 

A hoarse shriek and she was coming again, Larec snarling as she clenched on him, his fingertips leaving more bruises on her hips. 

“Master, p-please,” she cried, pulling free of a hungry kiss long enough to tuck her head against Naasade’s firm breasts and quake as a hand curled at the back of her neck. She couldn’t move, because if she moved, she would shake apart from the pleasure, from the feel of master’s cock huge and hard inside her aching sex, relentlessly driving her closer and closer to yet another near-painful orgasm. “N-no more, please!”

He let out a strained, amused laugh at her pleading whimper, breath hot against her spine as he leaned forward to bite the flesh between her shoulders, his chest slick with sweat against her back. “No more, hmm? How about.” He paused to slowly drag his cock from her, wet dripping down her trembling thighs. “One.” Pressing back in, just as slow, releasing her hip to reach around and stroke at her horribly oversensitized clit, making her wail again. “Last.” Another bite, tangling his hand in her hair and forcing her back onto him when she tried to squirm away from the fingers caressing her. “Orgasm?”

Sobbing, she couldn’t answer; she was barely aware of Naasade shifting beneath her as Larec eased her back to rest against his chest, a force grip tying her wrists together and imprisoning them between her breasts. The sudden shock of a tongue licking her folds, spread wide around his shaft, and then gliding up to suck hard at her abused clit, made her shriek. His arm wrapping about her middle held her still for Naasade to bury her face between her legs, even as Larec continued to pound into her, the combination driving her to thrash in his tight, careful hold. 

Her body clenching on him during his ‘one last orgasm’ was what finally made him spill into her, short, brutal thrusts trying to drag her into another release even as he pulsed inside her. She could feel more warmth dripping down her legs, and whimpered; Naasade was still licking, hot swipes following his come before trailing back up to caress her swollen folds. 

“Stop, please,” she cried out desperately when it seemed like the woman was going to continue, sweat tangled hair tickling her skin as she struggled weakly to pull away. “No more, I can’t, please...”

Shushing her gently and brushing the hair from her sweaty face, Larec turned her head for a kiss that she whimpered into. Between her legs, Naasade laughed breathlessly, but the torment stopped after another moment, leaving her limp as a ragdoll in his arms, her wrists still trapped by his force grip.

_ Shh, we’re done for the night, little one, shhh, _ he soothed, shifting to kiss her cheeks and forehead. He kept an arm wrapped around her waist, but stroked the other lightly down her side, gradually shifting her so that she could curl into his lap, releasing her wrists as he settled cross-legged on the mattress. 

“You did so well for us,” he continued out loud, nuzzling against her. “We’re done, I promise.”

Tucking her head under his chin, she scrubbed at the overwhelmed tears still trailing down her cheeks, relieved, exhausted and satisfied, bonds thrumming with a fatigue that matched hers. 

She didn’t want another orgasm for a _ month_.

“Yeah, you will,” Naasade said, grinning at her as she flopped down to sprawl across the foot of the bed, face just as damp and flushed as her own. “You just don’t want another right now.”

Snorting weakly at that false declaration, she let her head droop to rest against Larec’s chest, not caring about the sweat beading on his skin. “Lies,” she made herself mutter, eyes closing. “Lies and slander.”

A chuckle rumbled under her cheek and Naasade let out a soft laugh of her own, reaching out to pat her knee. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, kitten.” 

Sharya managed, barely, to stay conscious through the shower Larec shoved them into, just long enough to wash the mess and sweat from each other with carefully gentle hands. Warmth tingled along her skin as Larec ran a hand down her spine, and she glanced up to see warm brown as some of the less impressive hickeys began fading from her. A light touch proved that the bite at the join of her neck and shoulder had remained through the healing, however, as well as proving that her body was stupid; heat started trying to curl through her at the touch before she squashed it, and Naasade snickered at her disgruntled muttering when her nipples hardened. 

The bed was more than large enough for all three of them to curl into together, and Sharya sighed contentedly when arms wrapped around her, Larec warm and solid at her back, Naasade just as warm at her front, running comforting fingers through her hair when she decided to use the woman’s breast as a pillow.

—

The first time Naasade had tried to slip away from Larec's bed on the Orion, Sharya had woken as she was slipping free of the covers, violet eyes dark in the dim emergency lights lining the walls, seemingly confused as to why Naasade was trying to leave her and her master alone after some truly mind-blowing orgasms just a few hours previous.

"Please don’t go?" She had asked in a tiny whisper, after Naasade had tilted her head back for a kiss goodnight.

The mumbled words had made her pause, and study the young Jedi curiously, settling back onto the edge of the bed and watching as she nervously curled into a ball under the covers, gaze dropping to the fabric under her hands. It hadn’t been but a day or two since she had stopped jumping at her touch, but for Sharya to _ want _ her to stay...

“Do you really want me here, or are you just saying that,” Naasade asked just as softly, resisting the urge to play with that thick, silky hair. 

“I—yes,” was the hesitant answer, surprising her once again. “You’re warm, and, and you like this, just as much as I-as he does.”

“Okay, kitten,” she said after a moment, giving into temptation and reaching out to brush the hair from her face; Sharya hesitated a second, but still pressed into the touch, eyes closing. “I’ll stay.”

That quiet request was repeated every time she had tried to escape, and so she had given up, resigning herself to baking underneath the blankets, with Sharya's head pressed trustingly against her breast as she curled into her. 

Allowing one leg to dangle from the side of the bed as she carded fingers through thick hair, Naasade stared alternately at the shadows on the ceiling and out the windows of the bedroom into the still busy sky lanes of the city around them, letting her thoughts drift after waking halfway through the night. On Sharya's other side, Larec was a lump under the comforter, one arm thrown over her waist, his fingers brushing Naasade's ribs as she breathed. 

The anniversary of her village's death was coming up, here in the next few weeks; even with twelve years and what felt like a lifetime between then and now, the pain of losing everything in one fell swoop of uncaring fate tore at her heart, the grief as sharp and raw as the day it happened. 

Last year, she had gotten drunk enough that Larec had to filter the alcohol from her with the force to avoid a trip to the emergency medcenter, and it still hadn't dulled the pain, instead leaving her a weepy, sodden mess draped over the couch, staring just as blankly and silently out the window as she was now. In the years before that, she had used sex, drugs, drink, or brawling with equally pissed mercs and bounty hunters, or sometimes all four at once, just to avoid thinking about the look in her youngest brother's dead eyes, and the way that fucker Ganeeda had all but sneered at her enraged sorrow when she confronted him over the bodies of her family.

_ Will of the force, indeed, _ she snorted quietly, shoving down a spike of hatred at his remembered words; Sharya still shifted in her arms, brow and nose crinkling, and she absently checked her shields, continuing to scritch the younger woman's scalp with gentle nails until she settled again, breathing soft and deep.

She hadn't managed to finish killing him then, having been dragged away from his barely conscious form by three of the strongest soldiers under her command, but she had completed her vengeance a few years later, her newfound clan leader silent and unjudging beside her as the Jedi paid the price, a joint and then a limb at a time. After, Rhokkin had taken her back to the clan home, not leaving her side as she cried into some of the worst alcohol she had ever tasted, before or since.

The next morning, she had awoken as No-one of clan Jakkol, unable to bear her original name anymore, still hearing her mother and father's voices whenever it was said. The tattoo she had gotten when she received command of the Ash Angels was covered by the clan symbol that same day, erasing the last of her past as Ros Calynn, daughter of Danial and Breena Calynn, only sister to five brothers. She had kept the stylized black and white tattoo not out of a sense of loyalty to the Republic that had betrayed her so, but out of a desire for vengeance; with Ganeeda's death, the oath she had sworn on her family's graves had been fulfilled. She had known even as she had said the words that his death wouldn't bring her family back, but the fulfillment of the vow had eased some of the pain, just enough that she could go on living and not decide to find out what a blaster bolt tasted like.

Her meeting Larec some years after had helped alleviate the pain even more; he, too, had been left broken and bloodied by the Republic, abandoned to take his anger against the council out on whatever Jedi crossed his path, weakening the Republic further with each corrupted Jedi. The fact that he was paid extremely well for this by the ruling council of Sith was just a bonus; both sets of force users were desperate for new blood to keep their centuries-long feud going, and not every Sith Lord wanted to train their own apprentice from the basics up or choose someone from the Sith academies.

Naasade couldn't blame them for that; the Sith that came from the academies were far more murderous and treacherous than just about any fallen Jedi, something that a Sith looking to live into a healthy retirement age would prefer not to have in an apprentice. After all, it was common practice for the apprentice to surpass and then kill the master, in all the ways that mattered; physical death, the true death of the soul, erasing their names from the histories or even going as far as destroying their much-revered tombs rather than admit that they had once been under someone's control.

Either way, they had been capturing and breaking Jedi together for some eight or nine years now, and Sharya was only the second she knew of to receive this kind of tenderness from Larec. Her sister had been the first, and even then she had been destined for Morgana as soon as the dark council had returned her to them; he had tamed Lira just enough in that short amount of time that she wouldn’t return to the Jedi on her own, convinced, as Sharya was, that she would be killed for turning her back on the tenets of the order. It wasn’t that much of an exaggeration, either; when Naasade had been with the Republic armies, she had heard of fallen Jedi being hunted like animals by members of their own order. Tunarie Ganeeda had proven that rumor to be true by delaying the Ash Angels for two fateful weeks while he hunted across all of the Corellian sector for a single fallen Jedi that hadn’t even been found, rather than focus on the pirates that had been his primary mission. 

In her arms, Sharya shuffled again; her empathy apparently was trying to wake her, as she felt the echoes of her pain. Soothing her with more scritches and a hand around the back of her neck, Naasade managed to pull free after a few minutes, leaving their Jedi to roll over into Larec as she stood from the bed. She knew she wasn’t going to get much more sleep tonight, not with the way her thoughts had turned. Just before she exited the room on silent feet, a gleam in the darkness and a touch on her mind drew her attention, and she glanced back to see that Larec’s eyes were open and watching her.

_ Bad night, _she sent, knowing that he could easily pick up the thread of her thoughts, shields or no. 

_ Go, _ he said quietly, pulling Sharya more firmly against him. _ She’ll understand. _ And then, just as quietly, a hint of gentle teasing that she hadn’t expected, _ Stay out of my whiskey. _

_ Whiskey is terrible and you know it, _ she smirked at him. She was Corellian to the core, no matter her name or family. _ Brandy is far superior. _

Snorting, he closed his eyes, tucking Sharya’s head under his chin as she left. _ Barbarian. _

—

The Tiin Bucket, while not originally designed by or for his species, was still well equipped enough for him to go without his rebreather even with oxygen breathers onboard, thanks to a two door airlock leading into his room, allowing him to sleep comfortably; generations upon generations of designs, by his species no less, and they still couldn’t make one that was comfortable enough for him to sleep in. At least, he hadn’t found one yet, in all of his sixty-odd years. 

The keycode had been a bitch to enter last night, too, thanks to Jettomar’s gift of liquor; the master had sworn up and down that it was tihaar from an actual mando distiller, but having tried it at last, several years after the initial gifting, Dral’Tiin was more sure than ever that the head of the Jedi order on Ossus had been given a run for his credits. He had spent more than enough time in mandalorian space to try real tihaar, and that clear yet clouded liquor was at best a very distant cousin, by marriage, to the real stuff. Although credit where credit was due; the liquor had done the job Maura had dug it out for; despite having watched Sharya's hours-long torture and interrogation, he was distanced enough from it to be able to release his rage at her treatment, at least long enough for him to sleep.

The thought of it, however… Cursing viciously, and not noticing when he slipped from basic to mando’a to huttese and a few more languages besides, before reverting at last to his native dorian, he sat up from his bunk. This anger, this rage, was going to take time for him to work through, and multiple meditations, if not Larec’s outright death for him to forget, much less forgive. 

But carefully rewatching the last few minutes of Sharya’s time in the cell, and the footage of her walking beside Larec, his hand wrapped around her waist, had revealed something that might yet allow the fallen Jedi to live. 

The concern on his face when she had clearly been having panic attacks--from the mention of being left to Calynn’s nonexistent mercy, from the words ‘your choice,’ and her terror when the lift doors opened--after being released from the containment field more than likely had been faked, but the trust Sharya had shown him as they climbed aboard the ship wasn’t; it was how she had leaned against him, still wearing the robe he had draped over her in the cell, that told Dral that she may have made her choice, in more ways than one.

After that discouraging thought, he dragged on a robe and his rebreather to make his bleary way to the galley, Dral fumbled about until he had a cup of tea in hand, a green straw all but shoved into the mask’s intake tube to help with the caffeine delivery into his blood system. 

Settling down at the table, he draped a hand over his already shielded eyes, drawing on the force to begin the process of clearing any remaining alcohol from his system. Maura wandered in not much later, hair in a messy braid as she made straight for the kaffpot, eyes half squinted shut. She didn’t even look at the Mug, instead pulling out the second-largest mug he had, a heavy, hand-made thing with a dark red and cream glaze that had been hiding in the dry pantry for some reason. It was still only half the size of the blue eyesore, but it had helped hold the peace in the mornings since its finding. 

Grunting at him when he muttered a greeting at her, she downed half the kaff in her mug before dropping her head to her crossed arms, the force beginning to flow choppily around her as she worked on her own hangover. 

Twitching at the way it shifted, he reached across and took over, one clawed finger resting on her temple until she sighed. “Teach me that later, dear,” she mumbled, slowly sitting up after a moment, before continuing in a groan, “I can’t deal with a hangover, mornings _ and _ learning things all at the same time.” 

“You should have asked me years ago,” he answered. “I taught Sharya as soon as she was sixteen.”

“I’ll make sure to tell myself that,” she said dryly, taking her kaff back in hand. “Note to self: go back in time, ask Dral for hangover cure.”

His species equivalent of a smirk on his face, he turned back to his tea. 

Surprisingly, Tavarin was the last to stumble into the galley, still wearing a pair of patterned sleep pants, these decorated with multi-colored snakes wrapped around cartoony commercial transports. He, too, made for the kaff pot, hissing quietly when he found it empty. Shooting Keaira and Maura an evil look, he turned to the box of tea instead. Aden scooted over on the bench once his mug was made, and he settled next to the healer with a grunt, covering his eyes in the same manner they all had this morning. Wordlessly tapping him on the head, they kept their nose buried in their tea, the force warming gently, and a few minutes later Tavarin was able to take his hand from his eyes.

Now that they had gathered around the table, more or less—Keaira was taking up space beside the door, the Mug clenched in one hand as she stared blankly at the floor, face pale and force presence radiating exhausted grief—Dral looked around at the other Jedi.

“We have a decision to make,” he started. “Sharya seems to have made her own, but without being able to speak to her, we have no way of knowing how much was truly her own choice. We also know what has become of Lira, and the fate of the others taken from Dantooine; with enough time and planning, we may be able to bring all of them home, but that would require more resources than we have, and we would be forced to go back into Republic space for more at some point. If we do so, then we could potentially lose all trace of Sharya.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Maura interrupted, glancing up from her kaff. “I have a few safe houses built up on some Sith worlds; rat holes, more than anything, but they’re secure, and should have most everything we need. I also have contacts that can begin looking for them.”

“Are your contacts trustworthy?” Dral looked at her closely, curious.

“You know how I got to the order?” When he nodded, she grinned a little. “If they’re not trustworthy enough for you, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Then I shall have confidence in your judgment,” the kel dor replied, and looked at the others. “I believe I know the answer, but this is not a decision to be made lightly; we will be in enemy territory for an unknown amount of time, if we simply go after Sharya and Lira. If we decide to try and rescue everyone, then it will be an even longer time.”

“Are we to search for Sharya and Lira alone, or shall we search for all those lost to us?”

“I’m not leaving her with that bastard,” Keaira said, voice hard. “And if Lira is with his teacher, we can follow him and find her, too.”

"It's not just how much she was influenced by him," Aden said next, tilting their mug back and forth. "Its how much she was influenced by the bond breaking and reforming; Sharya couldn't have made the choice to go with him in anything close to her right mind, while Lira had no choice." Green eyes hardening, they continued, "I'm not leaving either of them to the Sith."

“Granya said to bring Sharya home, and she would want Lira home the same,” Tavarin looked up from his tea, something breaking in his eyes. “That’s what I’m doing. His ‘retraining...’ Hosra and Bela might as well be dead, from what I picked up. They probably wouldn’t even recognize us except as enemies.”

Shooting him a sympathetic look, Maura then glanced at Dral’Tiin. “I’m for Sharya and Lira, but I’ll ask my contact what she can find out about those facilities.”

"Then it is agreed," Dral'Tiin concluded, after one last look at the pale, determined Jedi around him. "We will continue after Sharya and Larec."

—

“Maura! What a surprise,” her sister answered cheerfully on the second ring. “And it’s not even my birthday! What’s the occasion?”

“I’m so glad I’m not hungover anymore,” she muttered, before continuing wryly, “Am I not allowed to call my sister when I’m in the neighborhood? And to think, I was going to come and visit.”

“Hungover? From wha-wait a second, in the neighborhood?” 

Maura fought the stab of guilt at the worry sharpening her sister’s voice, but answered honestly; no matter how often she was in Sith space, Devi worried after her like a tuk'ata hound with one pup, no matter how old she was. “I’m on a rescue mission, and it looks like we’re going into Empire territory.” 

“Damn it,” she said after a minute of wordless grumbling over the line. “I guess I should be glad it’s not Nar Shadda, huh?”

Dropping back to lie on her bunk, Maura stared up at the blank plating of the ceiling. “Very.” The last time she had been on Nar Shadda, she had actually seen men wearing her mother’s sigil following her before she managed to lose them in the lower levels of the moon. “Although it might end up just as bad. I need gossip on a Sith.” Very briefly, she told Devi about Sharya’s mission, and what had happened, as well as Larec’s name. “The last we know, they were leaving Edithae.” 

After exhausting her rage, Keaira had spent the night sleepless, going through every scrap of information she had pulled from the databanks of the temple, only to come up empty-handed and drained; Larec hadn’t left any kind of a flight plan in the systems, and there was no mention of any other places he might have gone to ground in, much less a home address. Dral’Tiin was actually waiting in the cockpit for her; she knew a number of hyperspace lanes into the Stygian Caldera, ones that weren’t as traveled as the others, and would help them avoid detection. The only drawback was the travel time, the route weaving delicately in between the arms of the circular nebula, and turning what would be a four-day journey into an almost seven day trip to the Bosthirda system, bypassing Korriban and the military spaceport floating above it entirely. After that, they would make their way to Dromund Kaas, the planet Larec was most likely to live on.

But Devi was still silent, and she pulled the comlink from her ear worriedly, checking the tiny screen; it was a cheap model, yes, but normally there would be a screech of feedback if the signal dropped. “Sis? You still there?”

“Yeah,” she finally answered in a world-weary sigh. “You’re not going to like this.” 

“Not going to like what?”

“For one, he’s called Lightbreaker now, and for good reason,” Devi said flatly. “He kidnaps Jedi, forces them to turn, and then sells them to the highest bidder as premade apprentices. You might not see her again.”

Her heart clenching in her chest, Maura let her eyes close; force, don’t let that happen with Sharya. Still… “He seemed pretty attached to her, considering he tied himself into her and her master’s bond as soon as he snapped it.”

“I do hope you’re not telling me that a _ padawan _ with an _ active training bond _ was sent out into Sith territory with the shittiest intel I have ever heard,” she hissed, voice gone cold enough to make Maura wince. “Was she even legal to be out past midnight, or did she break curfew, too?”

“She’s a knight, not a padawan, and her master left their bond active just in case something like this happened,” she explained, draping her forearm over her eyes and trying not to sigh too loudly at the looming diatribe. Devi had strong opinions on age-appropriate missions, and children remaining children for as long as they could; it was one of the many reasons she had saved her from a life as a Sith, and she loved her sister for it just as much as she was tired of listening to the lecture. “Her sister was stolen by Larec last year, and she’s been searching for her ever since.”

“Why I ever thought leaving you with those fucking lunatics was a good idea,” she muttered, and then there’s a short irritated silence before Devi speaks again. “At least one of your idiot Jedi masters can plan ahead, even if that is one of the dumbest plans I have ever heard of. Fine. You said you wanted his Sith teacher, too, right?”

“Yes, and one more thing. Do you know anything about the council-sponsored ‘retraining facilities’?” 

“I know I want you to stay the fuck away from them, as bad as mom wants you in one,” she replied flatly. “Why?”

“Larec stole more Jedi than Lira, and he mentioned giving them over to the dark council. I want to make sure those facilities can be wiped off the face of the galaxy by the time we get Sharya back.”

“You know what? I can get behind that, so long as you’re not in the lead. Gimme a few days, I should have something for you soon.”

“Awesome,” Maura said in a relieved sigh. This was going to make everything just a bit easier. “Love you, Devi.”

“Love you too, you brat.”

_ ~fin _

  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Sightseeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharya goes to a marketplace, and Naasade reunites with her clan mates.
> 
> no sex, just plot. 
> 
> plotty plot plotplot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, this one gave me a headache, and then more characters showed up. idek where they came from, but here. 
> 
> once again, thanks for reading.

“Well,” Larec said out loud, leaning back and resting his chin on his hand as he stared at the politely worded demand for his presence. “That was quick.”

Not even two days after stepping foot on Dromund Kaas, and the dark council had already sniffed him out. Damn Greylis, and his fetish for schedules with him; he’d been hoping that his arrival would go unnoticed a little longer, for Sharya’s sake, if nothing else. She hadn’t had near enough time to adjust to the force here, and to make her go into the Imperial Citadel as she was now would be a far more subtle form of torture than he wanted her to ever go through. 

It was common knowledge that any who displeased the nigh-immortal emperor or the dark council would wind up there in some form or another, tortured into insanity or death, and that was for the lucky ones. Rumours, whispered only in the most secure and trusted of company, insisted that some prisoners had been in the care of the emperor for centuries, to be tortured until he tired of their screams and placed them into stasis to be held for further torments, their unending agony part of the fuel for what powered his unnatural life. 

At best, Sharya would be speechless with terror from the sheer feel of the building; at worst, she would pick up the emotions of every soul trapped inside, and suffer from nightmares for weeks. There had been a small number of times on the Orion where he had woken to her curled up and shaking beside him, skin cold, and he was not looking forward to dealing with those hypothetical dreams; he had found out rather quickly that Sharya tended to lash out when woken from them, panic and training combining to help her fight off her intangible assailants; he had also quickly figured that the easiest way to wake her was to reach through their bond, soothing her fears before ever touching her.

There was absolutely no way for him to try and delay the meeting long enough for Sharya to get used to the aura of Kaas City, much less the Citadel.

Then again… it might be possible to get her used to the sheer presence of that many Sith, at least enough that she wouldn’t begin shaking as soon as she stepped foot into the Citadel.

Ignoring the request for now—whoever had scheduled the meeting had been lax, compared to Greylis’ usual preferences, giving him just over a day to prepare her—he locked the study behind him as he went downstairs, where his apprentice should be training. 

——

Hissing in a breath, Sharya shifted the grip she had on her lightsaber, dodging a blaster bolt as she took out another remote. The hilt under her hand was growing hot, just as it had been for the last week during her bouts with Naasade or the little round droids, reddening her skin and making her palms sweat from the heat. She desperately needed to take the thing apart and see what had happened to its innards, but she hadn’t had the tools to do so just yet, and had simply been putting up with the increasing heat, switching hands whenever it got too painful. It hadn’t even been an hour, though, and already her fingers and palm were starting to sting and burn from the contact. 

Faintly aware of the door to the spacious gym opening behind her, she took a second to see Larec lean against the wall, arms crossing over his chest, before turning her attention back to the handful of remaining droids; Naasade had been playing trooper today, taking potshots at the things and leaving Sharya to take care of the bulk of them, as well as keeping her protected from the painful bolts. 

Apparently, Larec liked to keep all of his training remotes set to Ow, and not just the ones that resided on the Orion; her side was still numb and tingling after the shock of pain from the last time she had been hit, but that one hadn't lasted very much longer after shooting her. 

Larec waited patiently until she had beaten the last one, hitting the bolt it shot at her right back into the barrel and disabling it before walking to her. “And how did you do today, my apprentice?”

Beginning to toss the still hot cylinder between her hands, she looked up, careful to keep close to the ends where the metal was cooler. “Decently, I think?”

“You’re doing better than decently,” Naasade said, idly shifting the massive blaster rifle she had been using to rest against her shoulder and wandering over; above her, the droids were regrouping, softly beeping at each other as they jostled for position like a bunch of excited puppies. “That last round didn’t take near as long, although you still need to work on your aim.

She nodded at that—she had hit far more often than she had missed, this time around—and then hissed when the hilt slipped and she automatically grabbed at it, only to drop it again when her fingers touched still overheated metal. 

It stopped just short of the floor, Larec catching it with the force and calling it to his hand, releasing a startled sound of his own when he touched the hilt. Letting the force hold it, he shot her a sharp look. “How long has this been overheating?”

“Uh,” Sharya started, going still at the look. “Since the security room?” When he raised a disbelieving eyebrow, she hurried to say, “It’s really only been getting that hot the last few days, though.”

Giving the lightsaber hilt a suspicious glance and a brief touch, Naasade gave her the same kind of look, yanking her fingers away. “That’s hot enough to burn, kitten. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I was going to fix it,” she said, wanting to flinch at the tones of their voices; almost sharp enough to be called annoyance, but still concerned, they were both looking at her, and she couldn’t help but feel that she had done something wrong by not telling them. “I just didn’t have the parts, or the tools...”

“But if you had told me, I wouldn’t have made you use it until it had been repaired,” Larec replied sternly. “The Orion does have a repair closet, and it could have been fixed by now.” When her eyes dropped to lock on the toes of her new ankle boots, silent and trying not to flush, he sighed and stepped close, fingers curling under her chin and tilting her face back up to him. His expression had softened, and when she saw nothing but concern in his eyes, her chest started to lose the uneasy knot that had begun forming. “You’re not in trouble, Sharya. You didn’t know about it, and I should have shown the closet to you in the first place. Next time, however, tell me if there’s something wrong with your equipment. Preferably before you have the chance to injure yourself.”

“Yes, master,” she mumbled, going with the movement when he wrapped an arm around her waist. That vague sense of shame slowly crept away, her flush fading just as slow. 

“Well, it’s time you got to know the armory anyway,” Naasade said, voice light as she turned to the door. “We should have everything you need already up there.” 

It turned out that the well-appointed armory behind the locked door next to Naasade’s room actually_ didn’t _have everything needed to repair her lightsaber, despite the neatly arranged drawers of components tucked under the cabinets; it was just that her lightsaber was so much smaller than Larec’s, and thus the parts she needed—connections, brackets, even some of the wiring harnesses—wouldn’t fit into the slender cylinder, not without having to heavily modify it. At that point, it would be easier to just make a new ‘saber entirely, but she wasn’t ready to part with this one yet, having put it together only a few years ago. 

Looking down at the spread of parts, she sighed and began tossing the ruined ones into the bin under the deep counter she was sitting at. Both focusing crystals, fully half of the wiring and most of the tiny circuitry inside the hilt had been fried in one way or another from the excessive heat, leaving her with a power cell that she didn’t fully trust, the power insulator, the main crystal (somehow, the illum had survived where the rubat crystals had not) and its bracket, the control panels, and a bare palmful of other parts. An arm wrapping around her from the back and a chin settling onto the top of her head let her know that it was Larec watching as she poked at the remaining components, and not Naasade, who had looked curiously at the cracked gems while Sharya had cut the nest of half-melted wires out of the casing. 

“So,” she had asked, voice carefully neutral as she glanced at Sharya, “All those rocks on your ship. Were they spares?”

“Some,” she muttered, abandoning the wire cutters in favor of simply yanking the recalcitrant things out of the casing; she had to put in new circuit boards anyway. “Most of them were just pretty.” When Naasade made a noncommittal noise, she looked away from her examination of the wires. She already knew that Naasade had been the one to go through her ship to gather her things, although she still didn’t know what had happened to it. “Why?”

“Just haven’t seen the inside of a lightsaber before, is all,” was the answer, but there was something in her voice that made Sharya tilt her head before leaning into the mandalorian’s side.

“You got almost all of them,” she said softly, dropping the wires to roll the heat burnished power cell from side to side with a finger. “Besides, it’s not like I had signs up saying ‘Replacement lightsaber crystals, do not touch’.”

That got her an amused snort, and an arm wrapped around her shoulders in a brief embrace before Naasade wandered away, the faint sense of guilt following her out the door.

Pressing back into Larec, she frowned out the window to her left. If she concentrated, she could almost feel the darkness around the angular spire he had called the Imperial Citadel. She wasn’t quite ready to try looking at it again, much less go to it like he said she would have to, but she might be able to deal with leaving the apartment. The credits, however... “Is there a market close by, or can I just order what I need?”

That got her a soft rumble of amusement and a brief squeeze. “There’s markets all over the city,” he replied. “In fact, I was going to take you out to one today. This just makes the visit a little more necessary than before.”

“Which one are we going to, then?” Naasade had pulled out a map printed on laminated flimsy yesterday, both of them sitting her down after lunch and explaining the layout of the city to her, and all the numerous districts that it was divided into. She had a feeling that the best place to get the components for her lightsaber would be in the district that most of the Sith lords lived in, the one with the floating mansions that whispered of malice and danger when she looked at them from the living room window. She wasn’t wrong.

—

After switching her ankle boots out in favor of her well broken-in pair since she wasn't sure how long they would be out, Sharya spent her second time in the tower's lift much the same way as her first; with her face pressed into Naasade's neck and her hands white-knuckled on the woman’s shirt, tucking herself behind Larec when the lift stopped for more beings to climb in. What was different about this trip, however, was that she couldn’t stop flushing; Naasade was keeping her distracted from her terror by describing, in detail, what she would be doing to Sharya if they had been alone in the lift. Larec chose not to help matters by strategically caressing her with the force, lips tilting in a smirk when she squeaked at him over the bond to stop.

As it was, she was the last to leave the lift when they got to the hangar, cheeks still heated from embarrassment; she was sure that at least one of the beings that had joined them on the lift had been force-sensitive, from the way they had raised a curious brow at her surreptitious shifting. Her master hadn't said a word about the eyebrow he received, either, simply greeting them politely as they stepped onto the lift. 

Today, the clouds overhead were a light grey, the near-daily rain not yet beginning to fall, and the air was so sticky with humidity that she left her robe in the speeder once they arrived at the main market in the Highrise. Well, in the parking lots near the main marketplace; the market itself wandered along both sides of a wide channel split off from a nearby river, the edge of the pavement high above the watermarks stained into the duracrete retaining walls. 

At first, she's too busy reweaving her outermost shields to pay attention to where they were going, keeping herself tucked under Naasade's arm while Larec led the way into the market proper; after a while, however, she's able to watch the crowds around them, no longer as bothered by the feel of the force in the area, tainted by the dark side and the presence of so many dark side users. Predominantly human, there were still other species mixed in; tall pureblood Sith with strange spurs and ridges on their faces, gold tattoos and jewelry brilliant against red skin, made up a good portion of the crowds around them, while the rest was evenly split between other humanoids, all dressed for the fierce humidity in layers of light cloth. 

She was surprised; for some reason, she hadn’t expected a marketplace on the homeworld of the Sith to be so… Normal. 

Despite the thin light leaking through the clouds, or perhaps because of it, children ran along the streets, their parents yelling at them good-naturedly as they passed. Food carts were strung along every few dozen meters, the smell of roasted fish and meat floating around them, some with small sample trays resting on corners that Naasade swiped from as they passed, eagerly sharing her stolen spoils with Sharya. One thing that the woman grabbed made her cast a dubious glance at Naasade when she tried to share; it looked a bit like a tiny eel or snake artfully stabbed onto an equally tiny stick, complete with head. A glance at the wide stall--not a cart, not with that huge iron block of a grill serving as the cooking space--revealed longer eel-snakes also on thin skewers, roasting over red-hot charcoal, these with more developed fins and spines along their sides; she looked into the plastic tub beside the cart, and then back at the thing-on-a-stick Naasade was holding out towards her.

“It still has its head,” she said, wide-eyed; the dingy grey tub had been full of more eels, swimming in circles and splashing frantically whenever a shadow fell over them. “How am I supposed to eat it when it’s looking at me?”

From the sudden grin spreading her lips, Sharya knew she was going to regret saying that. “The same way you eat me when I’m looking.”

Groaning, she escaped a laughing Naasade in favor of catching up with Larec; he made puns, but he didn’t make her blush with near as much sadistic glee as Naasade did. 

“I don’t see what the problem is,” he murmured when she caught up with him, casting a too innocent look at her, golden eyes sly. “You don’t have any such issues with me, either.”

_ Usually_, she corrected herself, feeling her cheeks heat even further as she heard Naasade‘s giggle shift towards a delighted cackle behind her. _ Usually, _master didn’t make her blush that hard.

“I’m not answering that,” she said primly, tilting her head to put her nose in the air, as if she was above such terrible jokes. Maybe if she pretended she wasn’t affected, the flush would fade faster. “Nope, not happening.”

An arm slung around her waist dropped her gaze back down from the arched metal and glass above them to glance sidelong at the grinning mandalorian pulling her close.

“You know,” Naasade said mischievously. “I only do that because you’re cute when you blush, right?”

“Hmph,” she answered, cheeks still pink. “Does that mean that you’ll never stop?”

“Would you have me any other way?”

She paused a second, trying to imagine a Naasade that_ didn’t _make terrible jokes, or mutter dirty things at her; her imagination failed her, and she sighed, shaking her head. 

“That’s what I thought,” she grinned, and raised the stick with the tiny eel on it again; the head was gone, along with half of the body. “Here; it can’t look at you anymore.”

Squinting at the stick, she delicately plucked it from Naasade’s fingers, and ate the last bite; the skin turned out to be faintly crunchy, the meat the slightest bit sweet, and entirely delicious, in spite of the thing still having its head when she had first seen it. Naasade laughed at her again when she went back to grab her own eel-on-a-stick from the basket serving as a sample plate, and accepted her portion with only a slight smirk, licking her lips suggestively before she bit the wedge-shaped head off; she valiantly ignored that, and looked at Larec, giving the second stick she had snagged to Naasade after he shook his head, also smirking at her.

A short while later, as she was depositing the sticks into a nearby rubbish bin, something prickled at her instincts. When she surreptitiously glanced around, however, snagging Larec’s tunic sleeve and tangling her fingers with Naasade’s so that she was tucked in between them, she didn’t see anyone looking their way, or even acting like they weren’t. Dismissing it as groundless paranoia when nothing happened, she relaxed and let her gaze wander to the side, only to freeze, and then grin, already trying to turn the two towards the booth that had caught her attention.

“Can we go there first?”

‘There’ being a large, well-stocked stall, easily three times the size of the others around them; tall, free-standing shelves were stuffed with paper books, and long tables topped with neat boxes of datadisks and datatapes lined the walls of the booth. It had been a very long while since she had been able to take the time to shop for new reading material, and since all but two of her books had been lost with her ship, or left behind on Ossus, she was hoping they would be able to spend some time there, where she could begin rebuilding her library. Hopefully. There was no telling how much of an overlap there was in publishing between the Republic and the Empire, nor how much Larec was willing to spend on her in one day. 

Some time later, Larec was pulled from his contemplation of the shelf in front of him by Naasade’s quiet voice in his mind. Not glancing at where she and Sharya were going through the bins in the sci-fi section, he idly pulled a book from the shelf, setting down the alchemical journals he’d found to flip through it. The binding was an intriguing red and black fabric over stiff board, the spine left bare to show the artful stitching holding the pages together, although the title page seemed to be missing.

_ We’re being watched, _ she said. _ The pureblood with dark hair and great tits, at the far corner. _

_ How long, _ he responded in kind, giving the book a disgusted look when it proved to be a period romance--the amount of courtly sighing and ladies fanning themselves was a dead giveaway--and dropping it back on the shelf to go use Sharya as a headrest. She didn’t even look up from the worn volume in her hands, absently leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around her waist, conveniently hiding her from the pureblood’s view beneath the light robe he was wearing. 

_ I’m not sure? _ The mandalorian sounded distracted, and was already moving to another bin, casting a distasteful glance at the book Sharya was reading. _ She wandered in after we did, and hasn’t left since. _

_ It could be a coincidence, _ he said, even as instinct told him it wasn’t. _ We’ll split up after this, see if she is truly watching us. _ Reaching out, he tilted the book further up; she made a wordless grumbling noise, but let him adjust it until they could both read. “What in the world,” he began after a moment of scanning the page, “are we looking at?”

“Something weird and creepy,” his apprentice answered, abandoning the novel to him and turning back to the precarious stack of datadisks and paperbacks she'd gathered. "I know I don't want it."

"Creepy indeed," he muttered, still reading. Apparently, the author had combined a sort of immortality with blood-drinking for the main characters; an ineffective and messy way to do it, but he'd heard and read of far worse ways to maintain a youthful appearance. Flipping through it further, he paused. "Is this supposed to be a romance or a horror?"

"Hell if I know," Naasade replied, raising an eyebrow when she saw he was still reading. "Are we done here? I think that thing is looking at me."

Blinking and releasing Sharya when she poked his arm, he looked up. "Books don't have eyes, Naasade." He still dropped the book and stepped back. "Therefore, it can't be watching you."

Out of the corner of his eye, over in the blank journals, the dark-haired Sith reached out decisively, adding another slim volume to the handful she already held.

A grin spreading her lips as she darted a similarly covert look towards the corner, she followed after Sharya with her own much smaller stack of reading material. "Nope, I saw it blink. It's a mimic, has to be."

A nearby clerk, a blue twi'lek with elaborately tattooed lekku, smiled at the retort, and held a hand out for the two stacks. “I’m pretty sure we sold out of mimics yesterday,” she answered as she began scanning, dropping each item into a bag. “Did you find everything you wanted?”

Nodding, Sharya stepped back, watching uncertainly as the numbers on the register climbed higher; she had been surprised to find a number of her favorite books, but the price written on the inside covers had made her hesitate even as she piled them on top of the cheaper datadisks. Larec didn’t say anything about the final total, however, simply giving her one of the totes holding her books before leading both her and Naasade to the edge of the booth.

She couldn’t help but squeak a little when Naasade curled a hand into her hair, pulling her close for a breath-stealing kiss; by the time she pulled back, Sharya knew her face was pink, but her embarrassment couldn’t stop the tiny grin spreading her lips. “Ok, I’m off to hunt down something for dinner. Have fun looking for bits and pieces, kids.” 

Rolling his eyes, Larec turned back as Naasade quickly disappeared into the shifting crowds, one hand reaching out to swipe another sample from the nearest food cart as she left. 

“Do you want to drop those back at the speeder?” 

Glancing up at him, she shook her head, re-settling the bag on her shoulder; it had started to slide off her arm while Naasade had been kissing her. “It’s not too heavy,” she answered truthfully; Naasade carried the other half of their purchases in another canvas tote, marked with the stall’s logo of a small, scarf-wearing worm chewing on an open book. “Where to now?”

At the same time, the pureblood that had been lurking in the far corner of the booth meandered towards the twi’lek that had rang them up. Outwardly ignoring her, he tugged Sharya close, hand resting lightly at her hip; she pressed into the touch, pleased warmth lighting the bond at the gesture. “Now we’re going to go get the parts for your lightsaber.”

Keeping an eye out for the pureblood proved a little more difficult than he was expecting; Sharya had admitted in the speeder that she hadn’t spent much, if any time wandering about marketplaces, most of her limited time on the various worlds she had visited spent chasing after mission leads, and not shopping. She kept twisting and turning under his hand, eyes alight with interest as they walked, until Larec finally let her take the lead, huffing a sigh when she immediately dragged him into a stall festooned with pop culture merchandise. By the time they had made their way into the more specialized section of the market, Sharya’s bag had gained a number of other small items, some of which he wouldn’t have been caught dead with; a purple plush version of the tentacled yodulu, the inside of its four wings printed with sparkly golden stars, and a small statue of an ewok wearing a ridiculous orange gourd with a face carved on it among them. She had also found more molded kaff mugs, including some that were modeled after rubbish bins. 

"Why would you want two," he asked, looking curiously at the charcoal grey mug she was holding; it even had regulation recycle markings printed on it. "I have plenty of kaff mugs."

She bit her lip a little at the question, eyes dropping to the cup strewn tabletop as her delighted grin faded a bit. "Well," she started, moving to set the mug down. "I figured Naasade needed a place to put her kaff, and where else would it go?"

He tilted his head at the comment, then picked it up. "You're entirely correct. My mistake," he said as he turned away, the trash mug safely in hand. 

Her grin brightened again as she followed him to yet another clerk, holding a second one painted with blue, purple and pink stripes. 

When they passed a stall selling leather goods, however, it was his turn to lead her into the cool depths of the booth; at the time he had placed the order for her clothing, he had completely forgotten to get her any belt pouches whatsoever, a necessity that was quickly remedied. She was still adjusting the new belt pouch resting at her hip, with two more of different sizes safely tucked into her bag, as they entered the minor chaos of his preferred weapons stall. Taking the now weighty tote from Sharya, he left her digging through the many tiny bins, a small basket at her side, while he examined the lightsaber crystals on offer. 

His own lightsaber was built with a combination of natural and artificial crystals, and while the main ones were fine, he had noticed that artificial gems tended to lose strength after about five years or so, no matter how little use they received; he was half tempted to go back to natural only, even if he would have to blood the things to keep in line with Sith aesthetic. Before he could make up his mind, however, a familiar squeak drew his attention; he looked up from the display artfully tumbled across black velvet to see Naasade draped over Sharya’s shoulder, one hand sneaking into her tunics. 

_ Just feel like thoroughly stacking your claim today? _He asked, turning back to the counter with an amused smirk, the bond warming with embarrassed pleasure.

_ Of course, _ the mandalorian answered smugly. _ Ready to trade off? Because that woman is lurking outside, pretending to read. _

“Damn,” he muttered out loud. _ I thought we’d lost her. _ Then, curiously, _ Does she seem familiar to you? _

_ No, but then again I’ve no clue who you have or haven’t fucked. _ Her voice went sly as she continued, _ You haven’t fucked any purebloods, have you? She could be looking for her daddy. _

Not dignifying that with a response--he had no children, as she was well aware, and he wasn't in the market for any, either--Larec let his attention slip past the walls of the booth, annoyed when he couldn’t find the same presence that had been in the bookstall with them. When he drifted back to save Sharya from death via embarrassment, a casual glance let him visually locate the pureblood, at least; she had situated herself on a bench across and down the channel, book in hand as she lounged in the small park. Allowing his gaze to move on, he continued to where Naasade was starting to nibble at his apprentice’s neck, unrepentantly smug. 

“What,” she asked when she noticed him. “It was there, and I’m hungry.”

“After you tried every free sample between here and the parking lot? We might need to get you checked for a parasite,” he replied dryly, switching his gaze to Sharya and her nearly full basket; the woman just flipped him off before tugging at the fabric in her way. “Go ahead and get some spares, if you want.”

Flushed, she nodded and started to reach for a nearby bin, only to stop. “Uh, Naasade?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you stop biting me? I can’t reach the power insulators.”

Not even lifting her head from where she was now mouthing the edge of a collarbone, Naasade stretched a hand up. “This one?”

“One o-over,” Sharya stuttered, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as teeth sank into the join of her neck and shoulder. The requested power insulator dropped into the woven basket, followed by a second, and Naasade settled even heavier against her, one arm curling around her waist to hold her still. 

“Oh, the things I’m going to do to you when we get home,” the mandalorian purred, and she stifled a whine at the note of avarice in her voice, and at the fingers pinching her nipples. 

Behind them, Larec sighed, and then took the basket from her. “Did you at least find something for dinner?” 

“I found dessert, but no dinner,” was the muffled answer, and Sharya wasn’t sure if she meant an actual dessert, or if she was referring to the mental images she was broadcasting of Sharya panting and naked against black sheets. Either way, she blushed harder, ducking to hide behind her hair.

“What are you waiting for, then,” her master said archly. “Go on, mighty hunter.”

Before strolling back to the counter, he tilted her back for a kiss, slightly awkward with Naasade’s head in the way. “Go with her, and try to keep her from eating everything before it gets home.”

Feeling lips spread against her skin, she swallowed an eep at Naasade’s mental mutter of, _ It’s not the _food_ he should be worried about. _

—

“I’m going to do it,” he said, nodding decisively. 

“You’re going to get shot,” his mate replied placidly, not looking up from where he was sorting through vegetables, clawed hands deft. 

“Gonna do it, can’t stop me.” As he spoke, he started edging out of sight of his quarry, relaxing his posture into something less likely to be noticed.

“She’s got at least three blasters on her, not to mention all the knives she likes. Don’t do it,” the golden furred cathar repeated. 

He grinned and poked him in the nose; Kujaapu finally looked up, hands stilling on the thin yellow gourds, his expression one of long-suffering resignation even as yellow-green eyes crossed to stare at the digit in his face.

“She’s not gonna shoot me,” he said cheerfully. “I’m her favorite, remember?”

Releasing a sigh, Kujaapu tilted up just enough to press a kiss to his fingertip, careful not to prick him with his teeth. “Try not to get shot in the face, oh favorite of no-one; I’d much prefer an open casket to a closed casket.”

\--

The actual grocery portion of the market turned out to be even farther along the channel than Sharya had thought, and was still well populated, although more beings were wearing some form of uniform than before, and fewer children ran between the booths. Further down, where she had found her yodulu plushie, there had been the occasional park on the edge of the water on either side of the channel; they had varied between playsets and gardens of flowers and trees, some with water features like ponds or small pools for wading. She was shocked to find out that near the split of the river was a number of fish hatcheries, and had to stop Naasade to ask; just downstream, she had seen children playing in a roped off section of water, and was alarmed by the thought of them playing in the runoff from what was essentially a fishy slaughterhouse.

“See that barrier, right there?” She said, pointing to a dull yellow bar built across the flow of the river. Sharya nodded; she had seen more of the things as they walked upstream, and had absently wondered about them. “That’s a purifier. I wouldn’t drink it yet, but by the time the water hits the first playground, it’s clean enough to drink. Then again, kids play in it, so take your chances.”

"That's… Efficient," Sharya finally settled on, frowning at the river and its yellow barrier. "I'm still not setting foot in it."

"Eh, same. There's a perfectly good swimming pool above the hangar we can use, anyway." A grin spread her lips, and Naasade tugged her closer, voice lowered to a murmur. "Swimsuits are optional, too. It's in the bylaws."

Eyes wide, she stared at the woman in a mix of horror and bewilderment. "You mean people can be _ naked _ in the _ pool?!" _

"And in the elevator. Basically everywhere but the hangar, honestly." This was said with such confidence that Sharya had to stop and squint at her. 

"You're kidding."

"Nope," Naasade answered, popping the 'p' and still grinning. "If you don't believe me, you can always ask Larec. He's lived there longer."

"I will," she said resolutely, not trusting Naasade’s grin in the least. Had she really moved into a tower full of exhibitionists?

As they wandered from booth to booth, discussing what to have for dinner--Sharya gave Naasade a Look when the woman suggested some kind of giant shellfish with pincers at the ends of long, spidery legs, shuddering dramatically--she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder. Frowning when she didn’t see anything, she went back to the jumbled pyramid of produce in front of her, not sure she recognized even half of the things; the mandalorian was far more confident about her choices, sniffing and poking and feeling up the exotic fruits and vegetables with an experienced eye, chatting away with the stall owner as she did so.

After careful examination of an orange fruit that had a light citrus scent and looked like the results of an unfortunate mating incident with an octopus, Sharya gave up on identifying it, and turned to Naasade, hoping she would know what the thing was. As she turned, however, a hand reaching out for Naasade caught her attention, and she acted without thinking, dropping the eldritch fruit in favor of grabbing and throwing the man standing behind them. He hadn’t come within half a meter of touching either of them before he was on his back, gasping as he stared at the glass ceiling protecting the market from the rain beginning to sprinkle down. 

Fingers landing on her wrist keep her from continuing her attack, and she glanced up, adrenaline coursing through her veins, still ready for another attacker to jump out of the crowds.

“Easy, kitten,” Naasade snickered, releasing her to hand over credits in exchange for a bag that she slung over her shoulder. Behind her, the stall owner shook her head, muttering something about mandalorians as she turned away. “I know him.” Stepping over the man as she moved from the stall, she grinned down. “Hello, Thrirr. I didn’t know you were suicidal; did Kujaapu finally leave you for someone smarter?”

“I’m insulted,” he gasped, wide-eyed as he tried to catch his breath. “I have finally,” he paused to wheeze and roll over, one arm curled around his middle where Sharya’s elbow had caught him, “made that cat the happiest feline this side of the galaxy.”

“If that’s true, I see it’s not made you any more honest,” she replied dryly, looking up. “Kujaapu,” Naasade said louder, and Sharya switched her confused gaze to the cathar she was speaking to. “Why haven’t you made him stop fibbing like that?”

Well-muscled and broad-shouldered, he was slipping from the crowd with ease as she watched; the cat-like being had tufted, pointed ears that poked up from the sides of his head, and the short golden brown fur she could see on his bare arms was patterned with rosettes in darker shades. Impressive mutton chops framed his jaw, and he wore his hair, a lighter gold than the fur on his body, in a top knot. 

“I thought I would start easy,” he called, his voice softly accented. “Break him of his pazaak cheating, first.”

Thrirr was glancing back and forth between them as well; at the cathar’s comment, he gave Sharya a wounded look. “I don’t cheat,” he said plaintively, “I just have mysteriously good luck. You believe me, right?”

“I-n-no?” She stuttered, utterly bewildered.

Sighing, he held a hand out towards the cathar, who hauled him up, looking fond. 

“Not even No-one’s girlfriend believes me,” Thrirr mourned, a wicked gleam in his eye as he turned a hurt gaze on Naasade, a pitiful expression on his face. “I thought,” he sniffed, shoulders dropping dramatically, “That I was your favorite?”

“Only on days that don’t end in ‘y’,” Naasade answered, grinning just as wickedly. 

“So tomorrow and the day before yesterday,” he smiled abruptly. “I think I can live with that.” 

Standing, he was just as tall as Larec, his short red-blond hair swept back like he was constantly raking it out of his greenish-blue eyes, currently sparking with good humour. Turning those eyes back on Sharya, he peered closely at her, one arm draping over the slightly shorter Kujaapu’s shoulder so he could slouch down. It didn’t make them even close to the same height. “So, tiny scary lady who can toss me like a smashball,” he started playfully. “Is there any way we could lure you away from that purple-haired hag?”

“I-what?” 

Before he could reply to her startled exclamation, Naasade’s arm went around her waist, pulling her close; at the same time, Kujaapu’s tufted ears went back, and he turned a stern stare onto Thrirr, still hanging onto him like a limpet. “I don’t share,” he said in a soft rumble. “You knew this when you proposed.”

“And I’d kick your ass into the next century,” Naasade added; their bond vibrated with possessiveness, and Sharya pressed against her even harder. “Not to mention what my boss would do to you if he found out you stole his apprentice.”

“A cute little thing like you is Sith?” Thrirr immediately tried to slip behind Kujaapu, and she couldn’t figure out whether to feel hurt or not until he winked at her. “I take it back, you can keep her.”

“That’s what I thought,” Naasade said dryly. “Come on, we’re taking up space.”

With that, she tugged Sharya away from the stall with the hand at her waist, turning an imperious glance on the two when they didn’t follow. “Well? Are you coming? It’s been months, I need gossip.”

“Nope, not until you spill,” Thrirr replied. “You disappear a month before our wedding, miss seeing Rhokkin get shitfaced, and then you come back with a bitty little Sithly girlfriend? I get answers first.”

“Sorry,” she smirked. “Classified.”

“That’s what you said last year,” Kujaapu said as they caught up. 

Under her arm, Sharya looked up. _ Naasade? Who are they? _

_ Kujaapu Posal and Thrirr Kormac. They’re harmless. _ Leaning over just enough to nuzzle against her frizzy curls reassuringly, she continued, _ They’re clanmates, too, and apparently they finally got hitched. Took them long enough. _

_ Being part of your clan does not make them harmless, _ Sharya huffed, but returned the nuzzle. _ You have met you, right? _

Sputtering a little, Naasade answered that with all the dignity she could muster, and a pinch to Sharya’s cute ass._ Brat. _

_ ~fin _

  
  
  
  
  



	12. Cantina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharya's day ends as it began; with a little bit of trouble, but with a new friend. 
> 
> here thar be Panic Attacks. as well as slavery mentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise second chapter of the week! this one was almost done anyway and would have been part of the last one if i hadn't felt like they both had good cut off points. 
> 
> also, like. fuck the covid virus. everyone is self-isolating and needs things to read.
> 
> stay healthy, stay safe, wash your hands. 
> 
> is there a covidupdate tag yet?

“You’re new to the empire, aren’t you?” 

A little startled by the question, Sharya looked up at Kujaapu, lowering her drink to blink at him. “Is it that obvious,” she asked softly. 

Across the street from where she and the cathar were sitting at a rickety ironwork table, Naasade and Thrirr were waiting for their food. They hadn’t made it very far after meeting her clanmates, instead settling at a convenient cafe a street away from the main market for a late lunch (Sharya would be half-tempted to agree with Larec about Naasade having a parasite, if she hadn’t eaten the same way on the journey to Dromund Kaas, snacking more often than she ate actual meals) so that the three mandalorians could trade news and catch up. Her master had turned down the offer to join when she had asked him over the bond, saying that Naasade deserved some unsupervised time, and for her to enjoy herself. 

Nodding, Kujaapu let his gaze track back to his husband. “If one knows to look, yes.” Then he grinned a little, a flash of fang at the corner of his mouth as he tapped his wide nose. “And if one has the right kind of nose. You don’t yet smell like a Sith.”

“Ah,” she answered intelligently. “What do Sith smell like, then?”

“It varies a little,” the cathar said, turning his attention back to her. “Mostly they smell like fire, and rage, and a bit like clean reptile. You still smell like the light.” 

She swallowed at that, dropping her eyes to her cup and its half chewed-straw. It took a minute, but she managed to steel herself, while Kujaapu waited patiently, his own drink raised to his lips. “I.” Her voice lowered without her permission, a raspy whisper that still hurt to admit outloud. “I was a Jedi, not too long ago.”

“Is that how you met our nameless sister?”

When she nodded silently, a large clawed hand appeared in her vision, stretched out across the short space between them and resting without comment on the table, pink palm up. She hunched down, but accepted the offered comfort, curling her fingers around his; when her hand started shaking slightly, she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t cry over this again. At least, not in public. “Then I am sorry. I know what that can entail, no matter how classified Naasade says it is.”

The unjudging comfort and sympathy she could feel from him made her take her hand back, dropping the cup to press the heels of her hands against her eyes for a second. Breath shaking, she forced herself to calm down enough that she could speak clearly. “Th-thank you.” 

Weight on her shoulder, and the soft prickle of claws helped settle her a little more. “There should be a ‘fresher in the cafe,” he murmured softly. “If you need it.”

Thanking him again, she stood quickly, waving away Naasade when concern rippled across to her. _ I’m okay; just gotta pee. _

The ‘fresher was actually on the outside of the building, and was blessedly empty when she half stumbled through the door, making her way blindly to the sink where she stood for a long, silent moment, struggling to get her breathing back under control as she gripped the ceramic sides. In the mirror, a young woman with frizzy, curly blonde hair echoed her; shoulders hunched, mouth open as she tried to breathe through hitching, near tearless sobs that wouldn’t stop trying to happen. Glancing up into the glass, she saw the same violet eyes she had always known, soft and liquid with a grief that had sharpened from the dull ache it had been yesterday, and she abruptly wondered when they would shift into corrupted amber. The thought made the knot in her throat tighten, and she bowed her head, unable to look at herself as she cried.

The door opening behind her made her flinch and hurriedly reach for the tap, shoving her hands under icy water to splash her face, and hopefully hide the evidence of her tears. Just her luck; apparently, she had missed hitting the switch to lock the door on her way in.

“Oh!” A woman’s voice said, sounding surprised. “I’m sorry, I-” She paused, and Sharya heard her step closer, the soft click of bootheels on tile. “Are you okay?”

A hand touched her shoulder as the woman spoke, and she barely managed not to jerk away, turning it into an abbreviated twitch and hunching into herself even further. “Y-Yeah, I’m g-good,” she stuttered, only to stop when her eyes finally overflowed. _ “F-fu-ck...” _

The woman didn’t try to touch her again, but when Sharya looked up from scrubbing at her face, she saw that the woman stood half a foot taller than she did, and had smooth red skin and dark hair that tumbled over bare shoulders; that she had a pair of tiny, delicate spurs at her chin, and, under golden eyes, equally delicate ridges on her cheekbones. Her presence was shielded well enough that Sharya almost couldn't feel her in the force, but the pureblood was still looking at her with just as much concern as Kujaapu.

“Not to sound like I don’t believe you or anything,” the woman said mildly, head tilting, “but I, well. I overheard you, out there.”

When Sharya recoiled even more, unable to keep from wrapping her arms around herself protectively—oh _ force _ , how could she have been that _ stupid _, saying it out loud, what was she going to do, she knew what they did to Jedi here!—the woman raised her hands, as if to reassure her that she wasn’t reaching for the lightsaber at her side.

“Hey, hey, no, it’s okay,” she insisted hurriedly, brow crinkling worriedly. “I don’t care, I’m just a nosy jawa and can’t keep my ears to myself, it’s okay. I'm not going to hurt you, I swear.” 

She took another step back, putting even more space between them, and Sharya was able to choke down the automatic cry for Naasade; at least she had kept the sudden spike of fear from her bonds, even if her arms were still curled around herself. “I-sorry, I’m really bad at this.” One hand went to her hair, digging in as she glanced away. “Look. I’m Devi. What's your name?"

"Sh-Sharya," she sniffled, struggling to swallow another sob. “An-nd really, I’m f-fine.”

Her day had been going so well, aside from her lightsaber needing to be almost entirely rebuilt; Larec hadn’t denied her a thing she had wanted, even the yodulu plush that had made him cover his face when he saw her pick it up, all but dropping the credits for it into her hand so he wouldn’t have to touch it. She had almost forgotten how she had come to be on Dromund Kaas in her excitement over being able to actually _ shop, _ spending time looking at pretty things and explore to her heart’s content, followed the whole while by her master, radiating protective fondness even when he sighed at her choice of booths. How was it that kind words from near-total strangers could so easily tie her up in knots, re-opening wounds that she feared might not ever heal?

“Sweetheart,” Devi sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re crying in a ‘fresher at a cafe. Again, I don’t really believe you.” 

Flinching, (_ I don’t believe you, pretty Jedi _ echoing cold and vicious in her mind, _ oh gods) _ she hastily built up the shields over her bonds, thickening them so that she couldn’t feel Naasade’s happiness at seeing her clanmates _ (brothers, even though they weren’t the ones she truly, deeply wanted) _, or her master’s annoyance with the crowds around him anymore, hopefully locking them out before her panic attack truly set in. One hand found its way to her mouth, where she bit down on the knuckles, falling against the wall as her breathing quickened. The pain didn't help in the least as wide, unyielding metal bands wrapped around her wrists and ankles, her lungs were starting to ache, she couldn’t breathe—

“Sharya?” A voice asked, sounding alarmed, and she whimpered, not sure how she got to the floor. 

Closing her eyes helped a little, her head bowing—she wasn’t there, she wasn’t there, Naasade had just been doing her job, the same as master, please force, she. Wasn’t. _ There— _ as she shook, pressing into the corner of the wall next to the sink’s podium. If she could just breathe, just work through the panic, she would be able to go get Naasade and then they could go home, where nothing smelled of cold, dirty concrete and electrical discharge and ice and fear, just _ please let her _ ** _ breathe—_ **

Arms wrapping around her brought the 'fresher back into focus, dragging her flush against a warm body to force her face down into the crook of a neck, while a soft, unfamiliar voice humming into her ear helped banish the crackle of the containment field; a hand (smaller than master’s, longer than Naasade’s, but just as strong and comforting) curling at the back of her neck in a familiar and longed-for touch that was almost right made the collar trying to form disappear, taking the hated metal bands with it. The song that was being hummed to her was something slow and rhythmic, long crooning notes that Sharya’s breathing eventually echoed, calming her further.

When she finally stopped shaking, able to release the fistfuls of cloth she had grabbed at the woman’s hips, Devi let her pull away without a word, even though she didn’t move except to sit back and cross her legs. 

“I did say I was bad at this, right?” The sith asked, grimacing. 

“You mentioned it,” Sharya muttered, leaning heavily against the wall and hugging her knees to her chest, not caring about the fact that she was sitting on the floor in a public ‘fresher. The empire filtered rivers still in their beds and provided covered breezeways for kilometers long marketplaces, surely they had even stricter standards for restaurants than they did for nature.

“So glad I already established that,” Devi said dryly, before her worried gaze turned serious. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Letting out a watery snort, she finally located the dispenser for paper towels—on the other side of the room, naturally—and yanked a handful close with the force, holding out some to the pureblood. “Me either. Sorry for crying on you.”

“It’s ok, I’ve got a baby sister. I’m used to being the shoulder to cry on, even if I’m bad at it.” 

Too tired to flinch, she dropped her head against the wall. One of her teachers had always said that there was no such thing as coincidence, and right now she kind of hated him. “Same.” She can’t stop her voice from shaking when she continued, “C-can you please sto-op talking? I don’t want another panic attack today.”

Cursing once as her eyes widened, Devi nodded and scooted back a little further. “Yeah, I can do that.”

She waited until Sharya was thinking about standing and washing her face to speak again, golden eyes solemn; the woman was still near invisible in the force, a not-quite void that made her twitch a little each time Devi shifted. 

“Have you heard of something called culture shock?” 

Puzzled, she paused halfway to her feet to squint at her, balled up towels in hand. “Is that a band?”

A grin spreading her lips, Devi stood as well. “No, but it does make an excellent band name. It’s what people can experience when transitioning from one culture to another. It’s easier to deal with if you make friends, and when I overheard you, I wanted to help. Here.” She reached behind her and into a bag Sharya hadn’t noticed before, pulling out a small journal and a stylus. She scribbled something on a page, and then tore it out, holding it out to her. “That’s my comm number. Call me if you need help, okay? I promise, I always answer.”

“I don’t have a comm,” she said, accepting the paper and glancing at it curiously. It was indeed a comm number, but Devi hadn’t written her name on it, and she folded it up, shoving it into her belt pouch. As she looked back, Sharya wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light when Devi’s eyes flared briefly, the gold intensifying for a second. “Thanks, for helping.”

“It’s no problem, sweetheart,” the pureblood replied, turning halfway to the door before pausing and glancing back. “You do have someone out there who can take you home, right?”

Swallowing one more time, and scrubbing the remains of tears from her eyes, she nodded at Devi’s question. “Yeah.” Forcing herself to look up, she continued, “I’ll be okay.” She grinned a little, knowing it was watery and still a little shaky. “I promise, this time.”

“Okay,” Devi sighed, before repeating herself at the door. “Again, call me anytime.”

By the time Sharya had finished washing the half-dried tear tracks from her face, Naasade’s voice floated through the metal door. “Sharya?”

One last look in the mirror—cheeks pale, her slightly too-wide eyes bloodshot from crying, but at least she couldn’t see any other evidence of her panic attack—and she opened the door, just as Naasade had raised a hand to knock again.

The worried look on her face changed rapidly, eyes widening in shock as Sharya stepped out of the ‘fresher. “Kitten?” 

Before she had stepped through the door, she had had a brief thought of pretending that everything was fine, that she hadn’t just spent however long huddled into the corner of a ‘fresher after breaking again. The instant she saw Naasade’s face, however, her resolve crumbled and Sharya ducked into her arms without a word. One arm automatically went around her waist, the other curling around the back of her neck when she tucked her face into the mandalorian’s shoulder. Maybe she wasn’t going to be ok, she thought distantly when she realized her hands were trying to shake again. 

“Kitten, I can’t feel you right now,” was murmured into her ear. “If you can’t talk, can you drop some shields, please?”

Nodding silently, she swallowed and focused on the shields over her bonds; a quick adjustment, and suddenly they snapped into place, sharp with worry, her master feeling even closer than he had when she had cut them off.

_ Can we go home, _ she managed to send plaintively, throat too tight to speak. She was ready for this day to be over. 

Torn, Naasade looked down at the shivering girl in her arms and eased them back into the ‘fresher, where she leaned against the wall, still embracing Sharya; she hadn’t seen Kujaapu and Thrirr in so long, but her kitten needed her. “Well,” she started gently. “We still need to get dinner, unless you want to eat ration bars. Think you can deal long enough for us to finish shopping?”

The ribs under her hand expanded with a trembling breath, but Sharya nodded, and Naasade sighed into her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she straightened. “Come on. Food should help a bit.” 

As they made their way back to the table, she reached out for Larec. _ Any sign of the pureblood? _

The Sith’s response was a growl that made her frown; she hadn’t seen the pureblood herself since leaving him in the artificers’ alley. _ No, _ he answered. _ I can’t get a fix on her. Has Sharya told you why she blocked us? _

_ Not yet, _ and hadn’t that made her worry when she had realized that she wasn’t able to feel Sharya beyond the faint sense of her nearby; that’s the force for you, she thought, mentally snorting, sharing orgasms apparently meaning that you get to feel the person you shared them with right there in the back of your head. _ But she was crying in a ‘fresher when I found her. She’s ready to go home. _

The feel of a sigh, annoyance over losing their stalker early fading in favor of concern. _ I’ll make my way to you, and then we can leave. _

_ I’m not having ration bars for dinner, _ she said firmly, pulling Sharya’s chair out for her; Kujaapu scooted over a little, giving her more room at the table, while Thrirr shot her a look. She shook her head at him, mouthing ‘not now,’ at his obvious question. _ And that’s all we have, remember? _

Because while they had brought the remaining foodstuffs from the ship with them, there wasn’t much left beyond cereal and ration bars, and they had cleaned out the apartment before leaving for Edithae.

_ Then make an order, and have it delivered, _ Larec decided, sounding exasperated. _ I’ll be there soon. _

_ Take your time, we just sat down. _

\--

As delicious as her food had appeared on the menu (a flatbread sandwich stuffed with slivers of marinated meat, onions, something called a tomato, and drizzled with a white sauce that she couldn’t pronounce) her panic attack left the taste dull on her tongue, and she ended up eating just over half of it, giving the rest to Naasade. Her drink still tasted good, though, and she ended up carrying another cup of the frozen fruit concoction through the marketplace, silent as she lurked behind the three. 

“Llaz just got her first full beskar,” Kujaapu was saying as they entered a store. “She painted it with polka dots and stripes, can you believe it?”

“At least she decided against porgs,” Naasade snorted, looking amused. “Remember when she was obsessed with those things?”

“She still is,” Thrirr cut in, grinning. “Sixteen and still wants to get a tattoo of a rainbow one.”

Too tired to wonder out loud who Llaz was, or what a porg was, Sharya made her way to the arched window of the shop, slurping at her drink. The same thing she had felt this morning when they first arrived at the market was teasing at her again, a sense of familiarity that trailed off into the maze of streets like a thread. She almost wanted to follow it, to see what it was, but she was sure that Naasade wouldn’t let her drag them away from the shop just to satisfy her curiosity.

Giving her near-empty cup a shake, she glanced at it consideringly; it hadn’t looked too complicated when the barista had made it, and she turned to Naasade. “Can we get the stuff to make this?” 

“Hmm?” Blinking, the woman looked up from the datapad in her hand, not saying a word when Thrirr tugged it away, muttering something about frozen dairy. “Sure, what was in it?”

“Tasty stuff,” she answered dryly, handing it over when Naasade made a grabby motion, brow creasing as she tasted the drink. “Where’s a ‘fresher?”

“Down the street a bit and to the left,” Kujaapu answered, tilting his head at her. “Want me to show you?”

Shaking her head, she said, “I can find it. Thanks.”

There was indeed a public ‘fresher just a ways up the street, but her more immediate concern was following the force, moving through the crowds with only a little trepidation. As she walked, the area around her changed, going from colorful stalls and booths of foodstuffs to white-washed, multistory buildings, some of the more fancy ones with barred gates and tiny courtyards.

The force led her to one of these, and she stared for a moment from the street, uncertain; set aside from the main path and tucked neatly at the back of an open courtyard, the three-story building was made from pale sand-colored stone, and tall, thin windows pierced the solid walls. From where she was, she couldn’t see inside, but the force was still pulling her there. Shoving down her nerves, she entered the courtyard, pausing as she got closer. A knee-high pool was in the center of the courtyard, filled with floating flowers and colorful fish; she stood over it for a moment, letting her gaze go unfocused as she studied the eddies of the force leaking from the building, head tilted.

Oddly muted, as if there were heavy shields built into the walls, a dull sense of horror and hopeless resignation permeated the area around her, reminding her of a slaver's den. Buried under that, so deeply that she wondered how she had sensed it, was the same familiarity that had drawn her here, and she left the pool's side to instead stare at the door. Whatever had caught her attention was inside, but the door didn't slide open at her approach, and she looked consideringly at the thin windows. The very bottom edge was just high enough that she couldn't see inside even if she jumped, but each window had a heavy, concrete planter box beneath them, with flowering vines being trained to climb the sandy walls and frame the windows. 

Another look around, to make sure that the courtyard remained empty and she climbed onto the planter, careful not to crush the delicate pink and red blossoms under her feet. A thin ledge let her cling to the side of the building, but she blinked upon seeing the slender bars set into the window frame. What was this place?

The tall stage against the far wall and the scattered tables across the floor read as a cantina, but it was nearly empty, only a very small handful of beings moving about as they cleaned; the stage was devoid of instruments, and aside from a single, leather-clad human sitting at the long bar lining the wall closest to her chosen window, there seemed to be no patrons, and she frowned. Maybe it was a new cantina, and just wasn't open to the public yet?

Squinting, Sharya tilted her head to try and see into the shadowed corners of the room, determined to find what had lured her here, only to stop when the human's head jerked up from his drink. She spotted the lightsaber at his side just as he snapped around to face the window; he wasn't the first lightsaber carrying Sith she had seen—most every Sith she had seen today had been carrying weapons of some sort, her master and Devi among them—but the same sense of the force that had all but dragged her here trilled a warning in her head. As she was about to drop down below the ledge of the window to avoid his gaze, however, a flash of red caught her eye and she froze a hair too long before she finished ducking. 

_ It can't be, _ she thought, swallowing the name she wanted to shout. Unless her master had lied, that couldn't be her, not in some dingy cantina staffed by people wearing collars, she was supposed to be a Sith, tortured and reforged into a weapon by some dark council to do their bidding, it couldn't--

“Hey!”

Startled, Sharya’s foot slipped from the planter’s edge as she swung around to face the voice. She managed to turn the ungainly fall into a controlled tumble, saving herself some bruises, but she still ended up on hands and one knee, breathing hard and staring at the Sith as he stepped through the previously locked door. Almost as tall as Larec, his eyes were a bloody red, narrowed as he towered over her; he’d shaved the sides of his head, leaving a crest of dark brown hair down the center of his skull, and his face was twisted with annoyance as he stared down at her. “What do you think you’re doing sneaking around here, Jedi?” 

Feeling her eyes widen—how did he know, she wasn’t wearing anything that could proclaim her former status—she went to stand, unsure how to answer; ‘I’m not a Jedi,’ warred with ‘I’m not sneaking’ in her mouth. Instead of either of those, she went with a different reply, praying the whole time she was wrong about the young woman in the slave collar she had seen. “That girl in there, with red hair; what’s her name?”

"The redhead?" He asked imperiously, and she froze at the cold touch of the force coiling around her. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. Answer my question.”

Heart now thumping in her throat, she grabbed the threads she could feel twining around her wrists and ankles, tearing them as she growled, "You first."

The two words shook a little and the nasty grin spreading his lips told her he had heard the note of fear; he stepped closer, one hand moving to a belt pouch, and she scrambled to her feet, backing away from him and the aura of menace he exuded, her own hand dropping reflexively to where her lightsaber usually hung. 

"I don't answer questions from slaves," he sneered. "And the only way you could know her is if you were a slave, or a Jedi; and if you’re a Jedi, then you will shortly _ be _ a slave."

The force grabbed her again, and she felt the blood drain from her face as he pulled a loop of leather from the pouch, bloody eyes cruelly amused even as she broke this second grip, stumbling over her own feet as the strings snapped. "Those boots are standard issue for the Jedi order,” he explained, not taking his eyes off her as he slipped the tongue of the collar free. “And you’re clearly used to carrying a 'saber, even if it hasn't sunk in that you aren't allowed weapons anymore." A step closer to her, his voice cloyingly sweet. "So, who's your master? Does he know you removed your inhibitor collar?"

When she didn’t answer, gaze locked on the collar and breath growing short, his smirk widened. "If you're a good little slave and tell me who owns you, I won't let him know you were sneaking around; it can be our little secret."

Swallowing, she dragged her eyes from the collar in his hand. "I'm not a slave," she whispered, making herself look at him directly, even though she wanted to cringe back from the innocuous leather, shudders beginning to run down her spine. _ Naasade, please find me. _ "And don't you dare put that on me."

“Not a slave?” He laughed, and suddenly lunged forward, latching a hand around her wrist. “Then why are you so afraid of this little necklace?”

“Let go!” Unthinking, she dug her nails into the Sith’s arm, struggling to get away from the collar he was trying to put on her, too scared to break free when the force closed in again. _ NAASADE, MASTER, HELP!! _

—

Frowning, Naasade looked from the door back to the datapad in her hand. She’d figured out the ingredients to Sharya’s mystery drink, and had already added them to the list, but the younger woman should have been back by now. “Kuja,” she started, eyeing him next. “Where did you send her?”

One pointed ear twitched at her. “To the ‘fresher,” he answered. “There’s one just down the street.”

“Yeah, but that was a while ago,” Thrirr said, serious in the way that he usually reserved for battle. “And she already one had one nervous breakdown.” Jerking his head at the door, he continued, “Do you want us to go look for her?”

Biting down a growl, she flipped to the checkout screen. Half-finished order or not, they still had a stalker in the wind, although neither of her clanmates had seen the sith she had described. 

“We’ll all go,” she started to say, only to freeze. The not-quite presence in the back of her head that was simply labeled _ Sharya _was beginning to thrum with fear, but before she could ask what was going on, a silent scream exploded in her mind, and she grabbed at the back of her skull, face twisting in pain. 

_ Naasade, master, help!! _

Sucking in a breath, she managed to drop the datapad to the shelf in front of her instead of the floor. _ Sharya, where are you, _ she demanded.

Details, she needed details, right now—a hand on her shoulder that she only kept from removing via extreme force of will dragged her out of her head, but the bags that had weighed her down were being taken from her. “We’ve got this,” Kujaapu hissed, slit pupils thinning at her instinctive snarl. “I’ll find you. Go.”

Her answer came in the form of flashes as the cathar spoke, and she didn’t waste her breath answering him; one hand going to her blaster, she left the shop at a dead run. The courtyard with its sand-colored stone could have belonged to any number of cantinas in this part of Kaas City, but the pint-sized versions of the colorful fighting fish she had seen pointed to an auction house, and if Sharya was dragged inside before she or Larec could reach her, they might have to buy their Jedi back. 

If they were lucky, she couldn’t help but think. Sharya still moved like a Jedi, thought like a Jedi, and today had even dressed like a Jedi, choosing soft browns over the dark or jewel-toned colors that Larec had bought for her. She had even worn the same damn boots she had been captured in, and Sith noticed things like that. And any Jedi openly known on Drumound Kaas usually didn’t last long, either getting killed or sold into slavery almost before the engines of their ships finished cooling.

Sharya's presence flared with terror in her mind as she ran, and she cursed when it abruptly dimmed, something muffling the quasi-bond to the point of nonexistence. When her desperate demands for answers brought nothing but a sense of panicked fighting, she switched to the other presence that she habitually kept tabs on, barely dodging someone wrapped up in a cloak. _ Larec, get your ass up here! _

_ I'm trying! _ Came the return snarl, and then she ignored him in favor of keeping her footing on the slickening streets; rain was starting to sprinkle down again, somehow blown sideways under the sheltering glass and metal. It got worse when she left the main avenues, needing fewer distractions as she concentrated on that dulled bond; agony was starting to leak through the thing, pain that tried to set her teeth on edge, and she put on even more speed. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else.

That vague sense led Naasade through a number of alleys, deftly avoiding the crowds clustered in the main street, until she came upon a small mob of people standing outside a walled courtyard, muttering to each other as muffled shrieks echoed from the stone walls. Shoving her way through to the front, she paused, just long enough to see Sharya on the ground near the middle of the courtyard, a tall brown-haired Sith standing over her, his back almost squarely to Naasade. One hand was held over her, blue-white lightning dripping down from spread fingers to crawl over a writhing body. 

_ Fucking Sith, _ she scowled, darting forward again; her blaster was replaced with a vibroblade without a second thought, and she grabbed the Sith by the hair, yanking on the ridiculous crest to drag his head back and put his throat into her reach. The lightning cut off with a jittery screech, and he turned a glare on her; in front of them, Sharya gasped in a breath, curling up where she lay; she didn't look up, instead huddling in on herself and shaking.

"Do you know," she hissed, letting the blade kiss the skin over his adam's apple, the not-yet vibrating edge drawing a thin line of blood; killing a Sith was illegal on pain of death in Kaas City, and that knowledge was the only thing keeping her from activating the blade. _ "Exactly _ how much trouble you are in, touching the Lightbreaker's apprentice?"

At the same time, she was reaching for Sharya. _ Sharya, get up and get behind me, now. _

There wasn't even a twitch from her, and Naasade swallowed the worried growl in favor of tightening her grip on the Sith.

“Lord Lightbreaker has never taken an apprentice," he snorted; a muscle flexed in his cheek as his gaze slid back to Sharya. “Why would he want this little bitch as anything but a bed slave?”

"I assure you," a voice laced with ice spoke from behind them; a wave of cold and shadows began creeping across the courtyard. "I _ have _ taken her as my apprentice."

Grinning viciously at the sudden voice, and the way the Sith froze, his eyes going wide, Naasade released his hair and knocked him to the side, careful to slam her elbow as hard as she could into his floating ribs, eyes narrowing in satisfaction at the pained grunt that got her. Now that Larec was here to deal with the Sith, she could learn why Sharya wasn’t responding to them; if she had gone unconscious, her body would be limp, not all but vibrating against the ground. 

"M-my lord," he stuttered, one arm wrapping around no doubt bruised ribs as he stumbled around to face Larec, "This sl-" He stopped to audibly swallow when the air grew even colder. "This girl belongs to you?"

Sliding the vibroblade back into its sheath and kneeling next to her, Naasade reached a hand out; even before she touched the cloth on her shoulder, Sharya had recoiled with a terrified cry, hiding her face behind one raised arm. As she shifted, curls moved, revealing brown leather around her throat.

"My lord," she said, as calmly as she could manage; it didn't prevent the fury she was feeling from sharpening her tone, and Sharya finally began weeping wordlessly, collapsing back to the paving stones. She didn’t try to move after, staying curled in on herself as Naasade touched her, carefully carding through blonde hair, shifting it to allow her to see more of the collar around her kitten's neck. The tongue of the thing had been fed into a small black box resting at the nape of her neck, one that had blinking lights and a tiny keypad on it in place of a traditional clasp.

Larec snarled something that she couldn't understand through the blood roaring in her ears, and she shuffled to the side, allowing him a better look as he knelt next to her. Resting a hand on Sharya’s shoulder, she turned her gaze back to the Sith, glaring thunderously at him, other hand moving to rest on her blaster.

"Sharya," Larec murmured, stripping the rage from his voice with an effort; moving carefully, he managed to raise her head off the paving stones, cradling her cheek. “Sharya, look at me.”

At his words, she let out a strangled sob, unfurling just enough to bury her face in his lap, fisting his tunics with fingers gone bloodlessly white, Naasade’s hand slipping from her shoulder as she moved. 

_ M-master, please, _ she begged him in a hoarse whisper, bone-deep terror pounding through the bond. _ Take it off, pl-please, get it off of me, I can’t feel anything! _

Shushing her gently despite the rage demanding that he use the ice rising to the surface of his skin, Larec pulled her trembling, durasteel-tight body up enough that she could cry into his tunics, leaving him free to examine the collar around her throat with one hand, the other wrapped around her shoulders as she shook. 

_ Shhh, little one, _ he soothed, turning another glare onto the idiot who had dared touch her. _ You won’t have to wear it much longer, just try to calm down for me. _

It was a true slave collar she was being forced to wear; designed to provide an instant kill with poison upon the owner’s whim, a wire embedded in the leather would turn into a garrote should the collar’s tension change, and with an explosive built into the lockbox to prevent digital slicing, it was extremely difficult to remove without the keyholder’s consent. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t simply rip the damn thing from his apprentice’s neck without killing her, which meant that the other Sith had to remain living a bit longer than he wanted. 

"You _ dared," _ he started in a low, enraged rumble, feeling the burn in his eyes intensify. "You _ dared _ to put a slave collar on _ my apprentice." _

Paling even further, the other Sith took a step back. "M-my lord, I th-thought she was a spy!"

"Then that is the last thought you shall have," he snarled, forcing his hands to remain gentle on Sharya; despite the pain his fury was causing her, she still clung to him, even as violent shudders wracked her frame. "Remove this from her, _ now." _

Stuttering and apologizing, the fool made his way over to them; when he knelt behind Sharya, she cried out, struggling to escape his grip to reach for Naasade; the mandalorian's blaster had come up as soon as Sharya moved, but Larec had already snapped a hand out, grabbing the Sith by the front and dragging him close, allowing her to scramble into the woman's arms as he brought them face to face.

“You will. Shield. Yourself. Before you touch her again,” he hissed, breathing the words into a face gone nearly as pale as Sharya's; beneath his fingers, frost was growing, giving the leather a slick glaze. “Or I will take you apart piece by sniveling, twitching piece until the guard arrives to take what is left of you to the citadel. Do. You. Understand.”

The Sith nodded frantically, and the vivid hatred and vengeful bloodlust in the force disappeared under the stench of pants-wetting terror; Sharya stayed where she was, curled and weeping in Naasade’s arms even after he backed away to fall dazedly on his ass, dropping the collar to the ground. This time, Larec let his ice run free; hoarfrost crackled into being around the thing, freezing it to the paving stones before ice built it into an indistinguishable lump of opaque white. 

Not taking his eyes off of him even as he shrugged off his robe, Larec located Naasade’s clanmates among the crowd at the gate. “Kormac. Fetch the guard. Posal. Our speeder is in the main market entrance, lot cresh, row grek.” A twitch of the force flung the keys into the cathar's hands, along with the bags he had been carrying. “Bring it here.”

Both gave abbreviated bows, immediately leaving the courtyard on their separate tasks, and he turned to tuck the robe around Sharya, feeling a sharp sense of deja vu strike; naked and pale against dark stone before he covered her in black, the click of heels and fabric slapping his leg dismissively, ice and rage on the back of his tongue, and a sickening terror that might not belong solely to Sharya flashed through his mind. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to dismiss it, already knowing that he would pick it apart later; right now, he had to take care of his apprentice, not worry about force sent visions. 

_ We’re going home soon, my Jedi, _ he said when she groped desperately after the bond, still almost wordless with panicked terror. _ Very soon. _  
  


_ ~fin _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/19/2020: alas, my need to constantly fuck with things means that i got to reload this chapter. but that editing (SOMEONE dropped the idiot ball (me. it was me.)) means the next chapter is going to be done, soon. in theory.


	13. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm tired, have fic.
> 
> Sharya gets caned.
> 
> notes and updated tags tba

The ride home some hours later was silent, with Sharya curled into Larec's lap mute and blank from exhaustion; she hadn't spoken a word since the collar had left her skin, unable to convince her throat to cooperate even when it was her turn to be interviewed by the city guard. Instead, Naasade had answered for her, responding to the guardsman assigned to them while the captain of the watch had spoken with Larec; the Sith, one Marcliff Colgree, had been arrested as soon as the squad had arrived, shoved into a speeder and sent on his way to the citadel, where she would face him again in a bare handful of days. The medic who had seen to her while she had been questioned had reassured her that the Sith would get what he deserved, never minding how Sharya had paled and moved closer to Naasade at the words.

When she was finally able to unfurl and lean against him, he wrapped an arm around her, fingers tangling back into her hair as she stared out the window listlessly; the tower was taking up a large chunk of the darkening horizon, and fear dragged icy fingers down her spine when she realized they were heading straight towards the hangar. If she had to go into a lift after being collared and shocked, she wouldn’t be responsible for what happened; not even the light haze from the mild painkiller the medic had given her could help calm her and she swallowed hard, throat clicking as she whispered, “Do we have to go through the hangar?”

Beginning a few levels below the apartment were a series of balconies, and theirs stretched all the way from the kitchen to the opposite end of the tower; she’d explored it briefly after droids had taken away the packing crate yesterday, staying well away from the edge before heading back inside. Right now, she would happily deal with the unnerving height of the building to avoid the lift. 

Twitching at her rasp, Naasade shook her head, changing lanes to angle up towards the balcony; one hand slipped behind the seat, fingers wiggling and she clutched at it gratefully, the tight muscles in her back beginning to loosen. “Thanks,” she managed, shutting her eyes.

“Sharya.” Despite the way he was gently carding her hair, Larec’s voice was frigid, and she froze, body stiffening all over again. He hadn’t sounded that cold towards her since the first night, and his chest rumbled against her shoulder as he continued, “You understand that we are going to talk about today, yes?” 

She almost jerked her head in a hasty nod, but stopped at the last second, abruptly aware of how much her master liked to pull hair, and the anger that was still coiled at the other end of the bond. “Y-yes, master.” 

Unlike this morning, Sharya knew she was in trouble; she hadn’t been subjected to Larec’s anger as his apprentice yet, and had no idea what to expect. Would he be just as brutal as when she had been a Jedi? Or would he take her to the room in the corner of the second floor, the one that she was still working up the courage to enter? 

She couldn’t stop a shudder from crawling down her spine at the thought, and didn’t open her eyes until they had come to a stop at the balcony. The on again-off again rain that had been falling all day had finally settled into a steady, soaking drizzle, and she held her robe over her head as she left the confines of the speeder.

Following him only a little reluctantly through the double doors, she stared when he bypassed the dining room and living room altogether after shedding his robe, headed straight for the carpeted stairs, boots rapping sharply against the wooden floor.  _ Oh gods, _ she thought, an edge of panic settling into her and making her limbs shiver as she dropped her own onto a hook next to his.  _ Was _ he going to beat her? Or use the same technique that had set her nerves on fire in the cell, so as not to leave a mark on her? 

Swallowing a whine—she had never wanted to feel that molten glass under her skin again—she made herself move, following him up the stairs woodenly, head bowed. Once she got to the landing, she looked up and halted midstep; instead of leading her to the corner of the hallway, Larec had gone into the bedroom, turning the lights on and pushing back the rain-soaked darkness. He had stopped in the open space next to the bed, arms crossed over his chest as he faced her, and she stood in the doorway, staring at him uncertainly. His end of the bond was simmering with harshly controlled anger, even if it was nowhere near as potent as it had been in the courtyard.

"I won't pretend that I'm not disappointed," he said, voice a rumble. "You should know better than to disappear without a word in an unfamiliar city. Your  _ creche teachers _ should have taught you better, well before Granuille chose you.”

"I trust," he continued, golden eyes glittering coldly. "That your behavior today was simply a case of poor judgment, and not an indication of future trouble, my apprentice.” 

Flinching, she raised her head to apologize and try to defend herself; he was force sensitive, he knew what those urges and feelings could be like, how they could drive you half mad if you didn't follow them.

Larec cut her off before a word had left her lips.

“‘Sorry’ alone is not going to cut it, Sharya.” He was utterly flat as he spoke, his face hard. “And yes, I am going to punish you. Afterwards, you will apologize to me and Naasade. Strip and kneel on the bed.”

Nearly falling over in her haste to get out of his way as he left the room, she huddled against the side of the bed where she had caught herself, forcing her breathing to calm as much as she could, throat tight with the promise of frightened sobs. It didn’t help near enough, but she was able to get back to her feet and pull her boots off with a shaking hand a moment or two later, straightening to unknot the sash and let it unravel on its own. She was already trembling so hard, and he had yet to do anything besides speak harshly to her; but this wasn’t the cell, this was the brightly lit bedroom on rain drenched Dromund Kaas that she was learning to share with him, the sheets left rumpled and unmade from where they had gotten up this morning. That reminder did nothing to keep her from flashing back to the terror soaked moments just before the ‘punishments’ he had inflicted on her before, her weary mind trying to blur today into that night, and she shook her head violently, locking her gaze on the deactivated holocron on the mantle.

Tracing the familiar shape with her thumb would have worked better, a nervous habit born from spending months alone, but she still calmed enough that Larec entering the room startled her only a little, head snapping around to watch him. To her surprise, the only thing he had brought with him was a thin, polished wooden rod, maybe half as wide as her smallest finger. Reassuming his place in front of her, he again crossed his arms as he frowned down at her, the rod held firmly in his right hand.

“This,” he said, lifting it slightly, “is called a cane. Do you remember what I told you about kinks?” She nodded, fingers tightening anxiously where she hugged herself. What did sex things have to do with punishment? “Normally, I would only use this after you had experienced it in play, but tonight will have to do.” With that, he sat on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor; a silent, commanding glance had her moving to kneel over his thighs, her forearms uncrossing from her breasts to press flat against the mattress. 

His left arm settled across her shoulders, trapping her firmly against him; blood rushed to her cheeks at the way her rear was forced into the air, humiliated shame starting to curl together with the remaining fear. His voice was a little gentler this time, the hard edge of anger softened as he explained, “This is not to injure you, it is to punish you for not communicating with either of us. You are to count each strike out loud. I will stop when you reach five. Are you ready?”

“Y-yes,” she forced around the knot in her throat; she knew better than to think that just because the slender rod appeared incapable of causing much pain meant that it was harmless. Granya had taught her how to kill someone with a tea towel if she had to, and that was as harmless as Sharya could imagine. 

The very first hit made her bite down a pained cry, struggling to jerk away; he had caught the tender crease at the very top of the back of her thighs with the cane, the arm holding her down abruptly joined by the force gripping her. Fire had caught even before wood left her skin, burning a stripe across the backs of her legs. 

“Count."

“One,” she gasped out, yelping as a second blow landed across the first, creating a sharply angled cross of pain. “Two!”

He aimed higher for the third, another line crossing over a red hot center; tears formed in her eyes when she bit her tongue against another shout and she shoved her face into the mattress to try to wipe them away; her hands were clenched so tightly in the comforter that she wasn't sure she could make them release it.  _ Three. _

“Outloud, or we start again.”

A whimper escaped her at the thought of restarting this, and she forced her mouth to work. “I-I’m sorry, master,” she stuttered hoarsely, “th-three.” 

Number four brought tears back to her eyes even as she dutifully counted, and number five landing directly on the very first made her voice crack, her back arching as she finally gave in to instinct and fear, and fought to escape the plasma flare of agony.

Dropping the cane to the bed, Larec absently fisted her hair as he ran fingertips across the overlapping marks he’d left on the backs of her thighs; her hips jerked desperately as she tried to pull away again, the force holding her at ankle and knee. Gently shushing her hitching sobs, he traced the marks one last time before shifting to cradle her across his lap; just as he had expected, her pale skin marked up beautifully, heat already radiating from the long, thin welts. He had been careful with the strength he'd put into the blows, even with how angry he still was, but in his arms and mind, she was vibrating like a struck crystal; pushed to the breaking point by today’s events, one wrong move and she would shatter along barely healed fault lines, undoing all the hard work he and Naasade had done in putting the young woman back together.

A quiet, desperate thought echoing across the bond to him, joined by the touch memory of warm red skin under her hands, made his anger sharpen; burying the emotion under a shield so as not to frighten her even more, he snarled silently for Naasade. Once again, he was going to have to wait before getting answers, both from the force and his apprentice, even if he was going to take that slip of flimsy from her the first chance he got.

Downstairs, she sent a wordless acknowledgment to his demand, hurried footsteps quiet on the stairs; Sharya didn’t notice, curling into him as she cried, fingers tangled in his tunics. If she hadn't been so worn out, she would have been sobbing instead of gasping raggedly for breath; as it was, body wracking sobs had been forced into soft whimpers, and she cringed from him even as she clutched at him, shoulders shaking. 

“Shh, shh,” he soothed, using the easy grip in her hair to tuck her face against his neck, again stripping the anger from his words. “I told you, five and I would stop. It’s almost done, little one, shh.” Glancing back towards the doorway once her breath had evened out a little more, he jerked his head at the mandalorian. Arms uncrossing, she left the door to kneel in front of them, one hand landing on Sharya. 

Flinching again, she gasped in a breath, the bond churning before settling on exhausted confusion, fear and remorse, the sickening dread that had followed him through the apartment beginning to wane as his hands stayed away from the cane. 

“I’m s-sorry, Naasade,” she gasped after a moment of soaking his collar. “I’m sorry, master. I won’t do it again, I p-promise.”

“I know,” Naasade replied, keeping a hand on Sharya’s knee. “I need you to tell me something; what’s my job?”

Struggling against more helpless tears—the painkiller's mild haze had disappeared with the first blow, and now every bit of her ached with renewed hurt—she clenched her eyes shut; the blinding rage she had felt from both of them this afternoon had faded to banked coals, but the question helped to ground her, dragging her from muddled memories of the cell and the not-cantina. She had answered it often enough on the journey here when her panic attacks had gotten the better of her, and even with the room going fuzzy and grey around her, she knew the answer.

“Protecting me a-and master,” she managed to choke out.

“So when I say that yes, I am also angry with you, you understand why?”

Needing a second, she nodded, fighting the knot in her throat to speak. “Because I was an idiot.”

"Because you distracted me, and then disappeared, and  _ purposefully  _ put yourself in danger, and yes, that  _ was  _ an idiotic thing to do.” Her tone was just as stern as Larec’s had been, and Sharya flinched. “Sharya, I can't protect you if you don't trust me."

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered again, bowing her head and pressing tighter into the arms holding her. A hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and her breath hitched at a sudden, awful thought; was she about to receive another punishment, now that Naasade was here? 

Apparently, her fear was obvious; releasing a slightly frustrated sigh, Naasade gathered Sharya’s abandoned clothing to her chest before standing. She couldn’t stop herself from wincing when Naasade reached out to grab her, but the grip was gentle, and all she did was pull her close enough to press a kiss to her hair. 

“You’re mine,” the mandalorian muttered, fingers tight on her shoulder. “Just as much as you're his, you're  _ mine, _ and I'm not about to lose you.”

The possessive growl under the words made her shiver even as her bond with Larec reverberated with the same sentiment. Another kiss, this time to her lips, and then she disappeared into the closet, emerging a moment later with a pair of pajamas. “C’mere.”

The arm around Sharya's waist released her at the soft order, but her knees gave out as soon as she tried to stand. Gasping, she grabbed at the comforter at the same time fingers closed over her wrists and the force wrapped around her, stopping her from falling. 

"I've got you," Larec said, hauling her back up. "It's okay, I have you."

Cheeks heating, Sharya gave in, and curled back into him. "I hate today," she sniffed, feeling pathetic.

"And that's perfectly valid," Naasade replied dryly, finishing the last button of the top and shaking it out.

After a few minutes, she was able to stand, even though her legs trembled; the mandalorian held her close after tugging the pajamas into place and redoing the buttons, one hand running up and down her spine comfortingly while Larec straightened out the sheets. 

His hand on her shoulder drew her back to the bed, where she all but collapsed to the mattress; the covers were drawn over her, and weight settled behind her, strong fingers carding through her hair.

“Sleep, my apprentice,” Larec commanded in a murmur; her eyelids dropped as he spoke, exhaustion and the force threaded through his voice combining to drag her down into soft, black depths despite how she hurt.

“Sleep, and have no dreams.”

—

Not speaking until the door was shut behind them, Larec thumped the back of his head against the wall, leaning against it for a bracing second.  _ Damnit. _

"Did you get it," he asked flatly, eyes slitting open. 

Holding up a slip of paper between two fingers, Naasade frowned when he took it and crumbled it into a ball. “It’s a comm number. Where did she even get this?”

“From our stalker.” Drawing himself back up, he stumbled when his hand left the wall; she caught him, frown deepening as she led the way to the lift. “Remind me,” he grunted, smacking at the keypad, “to call Raziela.”

“Raz-what’s she got to do with anything?”

The lift doors opened to show that she had dropped the bags just inside the foyer, and he flicked a finger at them; the piled bags rose, and trailed them into the kitchen, landing silently on the counter as they finally made it to the island. “Because if you call that number, I guarantee that Devi will answer.”

Yanking at one of the low backed bar stools, Larec dropped into it, and carefully raised his leg; he’d slipped on one of the rain slicked rooftops while racing to get to Sharya, and his ankle had been complaining bitterly the entire afternoon. Peeling off the boot proved difficult yet doable, and he regarded the swollen joint with a scowl, testing it with light fingertips; not broken, thankfully, but definitely sprained, and he clamped a hand over it, snarling a curse. The lights dimmed, his ankle throbbed like it had been spitted with a lightsaber, but he was able to roll it without a twinge not a moment later.

“Too pissed for lightwork, huh,” Naasade said casually, straightening and shutting the cabinet under the sink; she had gone for the first aid kit as soon as he had sat down, but he’d put up with the pain long enough, and the force was far quicker than kolto, no matter that it was dark side healing and thus far more painful than the initial injury. 

Despite her tone, the words were tight, and her movements sharp as she turned to the shopping. Eyeing her as he removed his remaining boot and threw it at the balcony doors, he rested his chin on one hand. There was a drink in his very near future, as soon as Naasade removed herself from in front of the cold store, although she could probably use one as well. 

“What gave me away,” he asked dryly, watching as one bag was emptied and then tossed aside. “Besides, I thought she was just a toy?”

That got him a chilling glare, and another cabinet slammed. “You shut up.”

“Only when you explain why you left her alone,” he replied, eyes narrowing. 

“I didn’t! I left her with Kujaapu, but those two were so wrapped up in each other I’m surprised they even noticed us,” she snapped, turning to face him instead of talking at him over her shoulder like she had been. “I had to seperate them just to get Thrirr to pay attention to something other than Kujaapu’s ass, and then the damn cat had to go and say something that triggered a panic attack--”

_ “Twice, _ Naasade, you left her alone  _ twice--” _

“I thought you were the one being followed! What would she even want with Sharya, no one knows about her yet!”

“I don’t know!”

A shiver in the back of his mind made him realize that they were shouting at each other, and he grit his teeth, clamping down on the force as the shadows around them darkened. In the bed directly above them, Sharya was still just barely asleep, almost roused by the anger that was thick in the air; nudging her deeper, he stood and crossed the kitchen to the liquor cabinet. Just as silent and furious, Naasade went back to unpacking, but snagged two glasses with one hand, passing them over as he retrieved a bottle for her from the cold store. 

Glass clicking against stone a little harder than he meant, he poured them both a generous amount and knocked his back without a word. Looking up at a surprised snort of laughter, the corners of his lips reluctantly tilted up; she’d found Sharya’s pink, purple, and blue striped trash can, and was examining it curiously, a grin lightening her expression. “You have one, too.”

Setting it aside, she poked around in the tote until she found the other one, and started picking at the price tags on it, grin widening. “Didn’t find one for yourself?”

There may have been a few color combinations that had caught his eye, but he would never admit it. “I have plenty of mugs,” Larec said instead, pouring himself a second glass, intending to savor the liquor this time. 

“Uh-huh. Says the man who got me my novelty frowny face mug.” 

The rest of the groceries were packed away, and a small pile of Sharya’s things had been built beside him on the island before they spoke again, the tension broken with the discovery of the mug, and then the purple yodulu plush. 

Sitting down with a sigh, Naasade curled a hand about her vodka and dropped her face to the counter. "I can't believe you got her that," she muttered to the stone. "I thought you hated that series."

"The acting is terrible, the animation laughable at best, and the writing could be better done by a twelve year old. But," he continued, grimacing and refusing to look at the plush, "the stupid thing made her happy."

She was silent for a moment, and then… "Daddy Sith."

"I'll take back your raise," he threatened idly. 

“No, you won’t.” Snorting, Naasade raised up long enough to finish a third of the clear liquid in her glass. “So,” she said after a moment. “When do I need my armor? In a few days?”

“Try tomorrow.”

That made her look at him in confusion. “But the trial—“

"It's not for the trial," Larec interrupted. "The council noticed we came home early, although I wouldn't be surprised if they ask about that mess when I present Sharya to them."

“I knew I should have checked my messages this morning,” she sighed. Goddamn police state… But then the rest of what he said caught her attention, and, thinking of the way the citadel seemed haunted even to her, she added, "She's not ready, and you know it."

"I know, but the legal protection she’ll get as a citizen and registered apprentice are going to be worth the trauma. As it is, our bond will only go so far to convince the judges not to punish her for unlawful entry,” he explained tiredly, repeating what the squad captain had told him. He’d come to the empire as an adult, not a curious, headstrong teenager, while the other Jedi he’d brought to the fold hadn’t been given the chance to get in trouble before being given to their new Sith masters. Thus, he had never had to deal with those particular intricacies of empire law, although nothing would change Colgree’s ultimate fate for trying to enslave a fellow Sith. “She can fill out the paperwork while we deal with the council, and then we can present her to finalize it. Did you go through those files we pulled from the ship?”

“Some of them. Nothing stood out as too treasonous, at least, just a lot of breaking and entering, and some minor espionage.” Glancing at the chrono on the stove, Naasade straightened and finished off her drink, the liquor burning all the way down and making her cough slightly. “Okay, let me out. If I hurry, I should be back before midnight.”

“I’ll save you dinner,” he replied, standing to follow her to the door. 

“You better,” she muttered. Casting one last look upstairs, she sighed again, and shook her head. “Are all young adults that stupid, or did we just luck out?”

“We got lucky,” was his dry answer. “She was raised a Jedi, and she’s still young enough to think she’s immortal, no matter what the galaxy does to prove otherwise.”

His recently healed ankle was blessedly silent as he returned to the island, but he still swung both feet up onto a neighboring barstool, legs crossed as his head fell back. On the other side of the apartment, painted in warm creams and browns, was a room long set up just for meditation, and Sharya’s new meditation mat and incense would soon be joining him there; but he still had liquor in his glass, and he settled in to enjoy the silence for a bit, eyes closed as he began the process of clearing his mind. He had the time, and now he was going to find out why, exactly, the force had shown him an echo of Sharya’s time in the cell.

—

Night had well and truly fallen by the time she woke up, the rain a steady, dull hiss down the windows. She was still aching, her throat raw and her face feeling burned from the salt in her tears, but she didn’t shake when she dragged herself up to sit against the wall, knees drawn to her chest. Burying her face in her arms, she huddled there for a short while, wearily taking stock of every hurt; she felt like she had been beat to hell and back, even if the enforced nap had dulled her headache and the bone deep pain from the lightning. The cane marks across her legs no longer burned, instead dimmed to a low throb that made sitting difficult, and she shifted slightly, wincing at the brush of fabric against fresh bruises.

Around her neck, she could still feel the collar. Shuddering when she realised this, Sharya finally got up, one hand pressed to her throat to try and chase the feeling away. A quick shower later, and she was left smelling of Larec’s shampoo and soap, the scents from the marketplace washed away with the phantom leather. Downstairs, she could sense him moving about in the kitchen; his anger no longer flared like embers, although something was still annoying him. She couldn’t feel Naasade anywhere, and the half-bond felt fuzzy, as if the mandalorian was some distance from her.

After pulling on the pajamas from earlier, she crept to the stairs, pausing indecisively to glance through the window into the empty living room below. Did she want to go down, with him still angry? Or just wait for him to come get her? 

Before she could make up her mind, her stomach growled at the smells coming from the kitchen. Huffing a breath—she was (had been) a Jedi Knight, and she would face her master, no matter the irritation he was radiating—she slipped down the stairs, bare feet silent on the carpeting. She would have to get used to dealing with his temper anyhow, she thought fatalistically. Training to become a Knight often took years, starting when they were children; surely becoming a Sith could take just as long to accomplish, even if all she had to learn was the philosophy and how to manipulate the dark side without being overwhelmed by it.

Once on the main level, she eyed the recliner longingly before looking to the kitchen; she had left her blanket trailing over the back, and wanted the soft thing wrapped around her. 

“Dinner’s still a bit off,” Larec called, making her jump. She hadn’t even gone past the wall dividing the dining room and kitchen from the rest of the apartment yet, and she rounded the corner to find him standing at the island. A knife in hand, he didn’t look away from what he was doing, but her striped trash mug was already in front of one of the bar stools, fragrant steam rising from the top. “And Naasade should be back in an hour or so.”

Nodding silently, she pulled out the stool, blinking when she found it occupied by a purple yodulu. Grabbing the plush by one stubby, clawed arm, she tucked it into her lap as she sat. “Where’d she go,” she asked quietly, not yet moving her gaze from the marble counter.

Raising an eyebrow at the timid way Sharya was acting, Larec used the back of the knife to scrap the vegetables he’d been slicing into a pile on the cutting board before turning to the stove to check the soup stock. “To get her armor. She needs it for our meeting with the council tomorrow,” he clarified, adjusting the heat. 

Behind him, he could feel her stiffen, and when she spoke next, her voice was tight. “T-tomorrow? At the citadel?”

The bond, already beginning to hum with nervous tension, buzzed harder at his nod. “Do I have to go, too?”

“The sooner you are on record as my apprentice, the better.” Turning to lean against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. “Do you know what could have happened to you, if you had been taken into that place? If we hadn’t been able to find you?”

“I would have been sold,” she whispered after a pause, surprising him into closing his mouth just as he opened it to continue. Bloodshot violet flicked up and then dropped back to the grey and white streaked stone, hunching in slightly as she swallowed; tears were starting to build, and her breath beginning to shudder. “He told me, before the. The lightning.”

In the back of his mind, remembered horror was trying to rear its head, half smothered by stubborn denial. 

“What else,” Larec asked suspiciously, eyes thinning to slits, “did he say to you.”

Her own eyes widening, she shook her head so hard that still dripping hair bounced against her shoulders. “N-nothing.”

“Sharya.”

When she had first sat down, the counter had been level with her chest; now, she was curled so tightly into the barstool that her chin was almost resting on it, arms wrapped around the plush he’d left for her. “Tell me.”

Gasping in a breath, she obeyed. 

_ The sharp edge of a paving stone digging into her knees, Sharya strangled a whimper; there was a hand tangled with her hair, keeping her head shoved down to bare the back of her neck. How could she have been so  _ stupid _ , why had she thought that following the force on a planet full of Sith was a good idea?! _

_ “You made a mistake coming here, Jedi,” the Sith growled, tightening the collar even more, so that every near-panicked breath made the thing squeeze her throat. “And I am going to enjoy every sound you make as I break you in for your new master.” _

_ Altering his grip to a fistful of fabric at her shoulder, he dragged her up, the iron threads disappearing from her arms and legs; but no matter how paralyzed her mind was, her body remembered what to do. As soon as her feet were solidly planted, she reared back and slammed the heel of her palm into his throat; his hold slackened, and she tore free, launching herself at the courtyard, already beginning to fumble at the leather.  _

_ Her fingers had just found the lockbox for the collar when she crashed headlong to the ground, something like a clawed hand wrapped around one ankle. Terrified, she fought to get back up, the Sith's clawed grip oozing up her legs and pinning her to the ground; that blow should have disabled him long enough for her to get away, but he was already stalking around her, one heel coming to a grinding halt on her outstretched arm. _

_ "You," he coughed, red eyes blazing as he cupped his neck, "are going to live to regret that. I’ll make sure of it, bitch." _

_ A dry crackle was all the warning she had before lightning ground into her, her voice rising in a pain-filled shriek— _

Heart pounding in his chest with borrowed terror, Larec snapped out, "Enough!" 

There was a startled sound, and the memory shut off, leaving him clutching at the side of the counter. It had been a long time since he had been subjected to a fear as strong as that, and he pressed a hand to his face, eyeing it clinically when it tried to shake.  _ I'm going to kill him, _ he thought distantly, deeply regretting the fact that the idiot was locked up safely away from him. 

"I'm sorry," Sharya was whimpering, and he stomped ruthlessly on the shadows that had already darkened the corners of the kitchen, wrestling the force back under control; almost without realizing, he had drawn on it, instinct overpowering rational thought to defend himself against the perceived threat. When he dropped his hand, he saw that she had ducked into a ball, face buried in the soft fur of her plush. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Her shields had slammed shut at his order, so thickly that nothing leaked through, leaving her a blank spot in the force despite the guilt and fear that was all but radiating from her hunched form. Absently grateful that he had already changed the settings on the stove, Larec threw off the remaining adrenaline and went to her side, firmly telling the faint quiver in his limbs to stop. Gods and the force both, but if his apprentice ever learned to truly weaponize her empathic abilities, she would be a literal horror to face on the battlefield.

“I’m sorry, master,” she choked out when he touched her. “I d-don’t know what happened, I was j-just…”

“I believe it was your empathy,” he stated, changing his mind and scooping her up from the barstool; she squeaked at the abrupt move and grabbed at him, the plush falling to the floor. Dinner could wait while they both recovered from the accidental attack, and he carried her to the recliner in the corner, switching on the lamp next to the couch as he walked. Tugging the blanket down around them and kicking the foot up, he settled in to wait for her own shaking to cease. “The shields you had before must have acted as a filter, of sorts.”

Lit only by the lights of the kitchen and the single lamp, this corner of the living room was dim; rain trickled in silvered streams down the transparisteel, vehicles gleaming wetly as they passed below. Off in the distance, the shadows of mansions loomed, windows glowing in a familiar, lightning illuminated view, and he idly counted the lights, firmly putting the shared terror behind him; he’d heard in the market that a new opera had opened a few days ago, and a good portion of the houses were dark. 

Ever so gradually, Sharya relaxed in his arms, tensely held shields thinning as she unwound from her ball, finally shifting to drape her legs across his lap and tuck her face against the crook of his neck with a shuddering sigh.

“Damnit,” she muttered a few minutes later, a weak thread of humor in the curse. “I need to redo them again, don’t I?”

“Probably a good idea,” he replied dryly. Running his fingers through her hair, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling her back under his chin. “Might want to rebuild your lightsaber first, though.”

Huffing a breath, she burrowed into him, somehow scooting closer. "In a bit?"

"Of course." Making a face, he brushed wet hair from his collar again. "Do I need to get you a hair dryer?"

"Probably a good idea," Sharya parroted, and he looked down to see a mischievous gleam in her tear reddened eyes. 

Snorting, he flicked her nose. "Brat." She grinned just a little, the fingers of one hand curling against him as she pillowed her cheek on his chest. Loath as he was to disturb her, with her force presence going soft and pliant for the first time since leaving this morning, he was going to have to get up before much longer; the soup he was in the middle of making was forgiving, but could go wrong if left unattended. Although he had one last question for her, and he spent a quiet moment carefully phrasing it. 

"Did you find it,” he murmured into her hair.

"Hm?"

"Whatever the force sent you looking for."

Her limbs tensed, and he could feel the effort she put into relaxing again. 

"I don't know. It was pulling at me all day," Sharya admitted hesitantly. "Almost as soon as we got there, and it was so familiar, but." She drew in a breath, as if steeling herself; outside the window, lightning crackled soundlessly across the sky. "Master. The other padawans you took. Are they Sith now?"

Outwardly, he didn't twitch. He’d known better than to think that she would go much longer without asking something like this, the same as he had known that she would try to investigate the dark side well at the heart of the temple if left alone. Still, her reluctance to talk about it may have lured him into a false sense of security, and he weighed the odds quickly. 

While they had gotten better acquainted on the journey here—despite knowing almost from the start how to make her beg with fingers alone, he’d not realised that she couldn’t stand the taste of olives unless hidden under cheese, and that she responded to puns with groans and increasing levels of sarcasm—she had been very careful about the questions she asked him, avoiding almost all mention of the empire, the council, or Sith in general unless he was teaching her in the dimly lit bedroom. She’d just as carefully avoided mention of the republic and the Jedi council, only bringing up their shared teacher during the holofilms she and Naasade bullied him into watching. 

“It’s possible,” he hedged at last. “Becoming Sith is more than learning to use your emotions; it’s acknowledging and accepting the darkest parts of yourself and then using them. Some beings choose to break rather than confront that darkness, while others can never make themselves use the power gained from it.” 

Her next question was quieter, a whisper that sounded as if she didn’t really want to know the answer. “What would happen to them? If they broke?” 

Eyes closing, he wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, and sighed into her hair, not minding the wet that dampened his fingers. “Do you want the truth?”

She shuddered once, curling her fingers into his tunics and nodding silently.

“If their minds were damaged but bodies unharmed, they might be sold into slavery, or be sent to some project or other. The empire has many uses for sensitives, and not all are as kind as death.”

Something like heartbreak echoing down the bond from her, she asked,  _ “Why.” _

There were so many layers in that single cracked word that Larec had to sift out the various meanings, silent as he petted her trembling form. At least it wasn’t wholly from fear this time. 

“Because they fought,” he finally said, keeping his voice soft and gentle as he could. “Because their force connections were strong. Because out of all the Jedi there, I thought they had the best chance of surviving.”

“But why Dantooine,” Sharya asked again, trying to pull away from him. “Why did you do it in the first place?”

“I did it because I had to,” he explained, cupping her face with one hand and brushing the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. “The council is not bound in service to some useless senate like the Jedi, they  _ govern _ the empire, guide its course. The emperor has given them this control and no move is done without his authority behind it. I could no more defy them than I could command a sun to rise.”

“You couldn’t say no?” The same hurt that had caused her to scream at him on the Orion was crossing her face in wet glimmers, underscored in the bond by a still bitter anger; he didn’t need the force to know that the anger was directed inwards as much as it was outward, towards him and Naasade for their actions. “At all?”

“If I had refused the mission, they would have given it to someone else, who wouldn’t have cared how many died. Would you have preferred that?”

She took a breath, biting her lip and turning her head. “How do you know,” she started, “how many you killed?”

A frown creasing his face—of course this would all happen today, why not—he shoved down the annoyance that was trying to build in his chest, reaching to turn her back to him. “Eight Jedi died by my blade or Naasade’s that day. Three more had their hearts frozen where they stood, and at least one was impaled by my ice. I know when I take lives, Sharya.” His fingers tightened on her chin, keeping her facing him. “The council knew about Dantooine. It was only a matter of time before they sent someone there, and better it was a Sith that knows the meaning of mercy than one that would have bombed the place and rounded up the survivors like animals.”

Something in her expression crumbled and she finally leaned against him, hiding her face in his shoulder. He sighed, and cupped the back of her head, ignoring the wet trailing down to pool in the fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry, little one.”

The worst part was, he meant it. 

There were no shields that Sharya could feel between them, only the sure knowledge of the depths of Sith cruelty, and the sinking awareness that despite the tragedy, that day truly could have been so much worse if a Sith other than Larec had been sent there; because while he was sadistic, he hadn’t compelled her into accepting him. He may have warped her bond with Granuille until it shredded, shattered her into a thousand pieces, tricked and coerced her into calling him master, but he hadn’t forced her even once since, had remained absurdly patient even in the midst of his earlier fury. 

Even so, in the bottom of her heart, she still wished it had never happened, that he had never taken the damn assignment, and had saved her family from this pain. 

“I know,” he murmured, hands gentle where they touched her. “It’s okay, I know.”

~fin

  
  
  



	14. Songsteel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hours before meeting with the Dark Council, Sharya's lightsaber is rebuilt, Naasade gets some, and Larec makes a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iiiiii don't think any tags need to be added? idk. been a hellish few months. enjoy. 
> 
> f/f sex in this chapter.

Her lightsaber was almost finished. Arching back with a groan, Sharya stretched until something popped and then cast a look at her mug. Painted with a serviceable black glaze (like almost all of Larec’s dishware, although she had found a few funny kaff mugs that she suspected belonged to Naasade), it held a respectable amount of liquid; however she much preferred her nerf mug or her new trashcan, and she slurped the cooled remains down, eyeing the weapon in front of her. 

Currently split into the two final pieces of inner and outer casing, the new imperial crafted parts ended up matching almost perfectly with the old, even if she had to rearrange the innards to allow the sturdier heat sink to fit better in the cramped space. The crystals she’d picked from among her window display should, in theory, not affect the color of her blade, but there was no way of knowing until she finally locked everything together and activated the beam. First, however, she had to do something about the glyphs.

It had taken her almost a month to design, place, and finally etch the chosen pattern into the silvered durasteel, meditating on every step and allowing the force to guide her until she had lost sense of everything around her. To now cover up all that hard work felt something close to blasphemy, but if a pair of _ boots _ (currently buried in the darkest corner of the apartment she could find) had given her away, then _ Jedi glyphs _ carved into the hilt of a _ lightsaber _ would guarantee that she be mistaken for a spy instead of Larec’s apprentice, and oh force, she was not ready for this. 

Shoving down panic, she double-checked her shields, intensely aware of the shadowy spire looming half a city away. She wasn’t sure if it was a true nudging from the force or simply her own fears magnifying themselves like an echo chamber, and her meditations last night hadn’t helped to clarify anything. She’d ended up doing breathing exercises when she couldn’t stop shaking at the thought of reliving her earlier abuse, Larec a calm bulwark against the darkness beside her; it was something they had begun on the Orion, and, before that, she had done it with Granuille and Lira. Sharing meditations was a comfort that she had missed, and it should have soothed her instead of leaving her a knotted mess. 

Ignoring how her hand shook as she grabbed the half-eaten not-ration bar that had been breakfast (Naasade called it a granola bar, but it had chocolate in it, so she didn't care how much like a ration bar it still tasted like) Sharya left the armory, pausing to glance down the hall before turning to the other bedroom instead; Larec’s study door was closed, his end of the bond focused, and she didn’t want to interrupt him. “Naasade?”

In the ‘fresher, the shower cut off, and she glanced around curiously while waiting for a reply. The wall directly across from her was yet more transparisteel, floor-length curtains pulled halfway to obscure the rain cloaked city, and the deep carpet was a dark, stony grey. Poking it with one toe, she grinned and dug the rest in; it was delightfully plush despite the resemblance to a rough pathway, and she edged in a little further, one hand on the doorway. 

Still somehow matching with the cool tones of the rest of the apartment, the walls were painted a rich green, and brass seemed to be the metal of choice, as opposed to the chrome accents everywhere else; long brass rods stretched from one end of the wall to the other, supporting curtains that altered color across the window. A single navy blue curtain panel was hung next to a forest green one, the green giving way to a light pink that changed to white, before echoing the pink to green fade on the other end of the room. Faint shadows along the green walls showed where framed flat pics had hung, or possibly posters; it was yet more evidence that the two were in the process of moving, the consolidation of belongings and stripping of personal details from rooms, and she wondered what would have been in the frames that were missing.

“You don’t have to stand in the hall,” Naasade called, and Sharya looked up from examining the largest, closest shadow. One towel thrown over her shoulder, she was tucking another around herself, hair dripping down her back, and glanced up to grin slyly at the mug in her hand. “Is that kaff?”

“It was tea,” she replied, abandoning the door frame. “Do you have any leather strips? I need some for my lightsaber.”

“Damn. Yeah, I don’t think all my craft stuff’s packed up yet.” Now twisting her hair into the second towel, Naasade stepped through the door next to the ‘fresher, and Sharya went to sit on the bed pushed into the corner.

Piled high with a rainbow of colors and shapes, Sharya put both mug and granola bar on the dark wood top of the nightstand to examine a pillow that was shaped like a—she paused and reoriented it, flipping the thing around to see the design on the front—fire. Bemused but charmed, she hugged the plush flame, petting the three floppy ‘logs’ sticking out the front as she gave the pillows a second look. Hidden among the more mundane cushions were plush versions of a Jawa with huge yellow plastic eyes, and a doll that she thought must represent a Sith lord; the squishy robed figure had a puffy red tube with a dark end attached to one hand by a short loop of elastic, and the face was a dull red mask, featureless but for the visor slashed across at eye level.

“I see you found my bed warmers,” Naasade said, leaving the closet with a spool in hand. “This is for the writing, right?”

Nodding and ignoring the pun except to roll her eyes, she made to stand, dropping the campfire pillow to the side; she ended up squeaking instead as Naasade continued forward and onto her lap, the towel riding up her thighs. Quickly losing her balance, Sharya squeaked again and fell back, flushing, to stare at the ceiling; her hands immediately went to cloth-covered hips as Naasade leaned down, a tendril of hair escaping the towel to fall across her wicked smile.

“So,” she drawled, crossing her arms and settling heavily onto Sharya’s chest. Her sharp chin came to rest on one forearm, and her eyes went hooded, one finger tapping on the spool. “If we need the ‘fresher today, what do we say.”

Gulping, she guessed, “Naasade, will you show me to the ‘fresher?”

“Very good,” was the answering coo. Another wiggle, and some of the wickedness in the mandalorian’s gaze disappeared. “Are you sure you can deal with the armor?”

The question was enough of a non sequitur that she blinked, attention pulled away from how Naasade was almost absently riding Sharya’s upraised thigh, and the heat blush that still darkened her cheeks and the skin of her shoulders. 

The beskar had been on a stand the one time she had seen it on the ship, and covered up with a sheet rapidly afterwards; a still unfamiliar Naasade had dragged her into the bunk to kiss her breathless, making her forget the armor entirely until she had woken the next morning. She had also noticed it shoved into the open locker at the foot of the bed just a few moments ago, glossy and dangerous, and had deliberately ignored it. “I-maybe?”

Huffing a breath, the woman shifted, rising to her knees to kiss her forehead. “If you start feeling overwhelmed, tell me. We can find a quiet corner to make out in, or something.”

“Make-ou—_ no,” _ she squawked indignantly, grabbing at the moving body over her; her fingers caught the trailing end of the towel and suddenly Naasade was crouching over her, naked and bemused. Flushing, she ignored the wet breasts pressing against her pajama top to repeat herself coherently. “No makeouts in public.”

“Need I remind you of yesterday, when I had one of your cute little nipples in between my fingers, just like this?” Clever fingers pushed a button through its hole, and slid under damp cloth to circle and then pinch the tender bud, and her blush deepened as Naasade smirked widely. “Do you remember how you whined, my sweet kitten?”

Both nipples were already hardening at the attention, and Naasade had been grinding slow and dirty against her since she sat down. Forcing back a whimper, she opened her eyes and in a voice that cracked, restated, “No makeouts in public unless I start them.”

“Mm, I think I can live with that.” The mandalorian leaned down and Sharya met her halfway, opening to a slick, questing tongue; a second button was slipped free, and a hand covered one breast, squeezing lightly. “How much time do we have?”

“Um,” she answered intelligently, head dropping back so teeth could close on her pulse point. _ Master? When do we need to leave? _

_ Another hour and a half. _ There was a sense of being examined, and then, in a bland tone _ , _ he asked, _ Is your lightsaber finished? _

At her distracted, _ Almost, _ and an image of the two final pieces, Larec sent an amused affirmation, and the sensation of lips pressed against hers. _ Make it quick, you two. _

“Yessir,” Naasade purred, throwing the spool back towards the hallway and making short work of the remaining buttons on the top. “Let’s get you out of this.”

Despite the medic’s confident declaration that Sharya would ultimately be fine after her ordeal, instinct demanded that she check with her own hands, petting pale skin and making sure that the young woman was truly unscarred. Thanks to hellish traffic, she’d gotten back too late last night to start anything, and even sleeping, Sharya had shied from a casually sensual touch, cringing and curling into Larec’s side when Naasade had joined them in the massive bed. She’d not been able to check this morning either, waking to find Sharya wrist-deep in rebuilding her lightsaber, and so gone into the force that she’d barely noticed Naasade replacing her empty mug with a full one, although she had shaken it off to absently return her good morning kiss. At least it seemed like they had gotten to the auction house before the Sith could assault her further; Naasade’s hands on her hadn’t yet set off any kind of trembling, and the violet eyes fluttering shut were dark with lust, not fear, as Naasade pressed her into the mattress, digging fingers into thick, soft hair and tilting to lock their lips together. 

Between them, Sharya had started yanking one-handed at the string of her pajama bottoms, and Naasade laughed when the kiss was broken with an annoyed curse. “Just slide out of them, mesh’la,” she murmured, nipping an earlobe just to hear the soft inhale. “Here, I’ll help.”

Bracing herself on her elbow and knees, she slipped under the waistband and began tracing the dampening slit she found with quick, teasing fingers; Sharya’s eyes popped open with another gasp. “That’s not helping,” she squeaked as she arched, breath already coming in soft pants.

“Are you sure?” Taking advantage of the way her hips had lifted, Naasade got a fistful of fabric and tugged, managing to get the bottoms almost to her knees before going back to stroking her. “Because I can stop and just keep doing this, if you don’t want to get off yet. Oh!” She paused, sitting back on her haunches and grinning widely, still dragging her fingertips up and down, over and over in a deliberately maddening pace. “Have we talked about edging?”

Shuddering needily, Sharya reached for her. “No, but-”

“Mm, pity.” Absently adding that to the list of kinks to try, Naasade turned her attention to the faint red marks crawling over one shoulder, leaning to lick a trail from the bony edge of a clavicle and up, teeth gently scraping the spiky lines left by the lightning. Just as sensitive as before, judging from the whimper, and a finger dipping into Sharya’s folds dragged a soft cry from her. “Remind me to introduce you later.”

She was more than slick enough, but the shirt was getting in the way even with its buttons undone, and she straightened. “Up on the bed.”

Taking a moment to shove the piled cushions and plushes to the floor, Naasade let the towel drop from her hair as they rearranged themselves, Sharya following her direction until they were almost face to face, pale cheeks flushed and eyes dark, pajamas abandoned to the floor. Curling a hand around the back of her neck, she pulled the young woman into a kiss, rolling her hips at the same time; the thigh between her legs jerked, and the arms about her shoulders faltered as she rubbed against Sharya on her way up and then down, gleefully broadcasting the thrill of pleasure just loud enough. 

“You know what to do, kitten,” she broke away to breathe, shifting a little to try and open her further. “Ride my thigh, just like last time.”

It was a little more difficult than that, but they were close to the same height, and Sharya quickly got the hang of it, Naasade gripping her by the hip to keep her steady as they started rocking a little faster. The bed bouncing beneath them helped, and she gasped at the shock of movement between her folds; something was sliding into her, a little clumsy, but Sharya moaned at the same time, hips jerking. 

“New trick,” she managed to ask, mouth dropping to pant. Normally Larec was the one to use the force, but if her kitten was wanting to experiment, well, who was she to complain?

“Y-yeah,” Sharya gasped, eyes flicking up anxiously. “Should I stop?”

Just then, the thing inside her pressed perfectly, and she let out a cry, ducking her head into the curve of a neck. 

“Don’t you dare,” she growled once she caught her breath. Tangling a hand in blonde hair, Naasade kept her in place for a deep, hungry kiss, licking into her mouth and devouring the helpless mewl Sharya made. _ You keep that up, _ she added raggedly, jerking at the continued penetration on top of the grinding on her clit. _ And I might have the fastest orgasm ever. _

It wasn’t quite the fastest she’d ever had, but it was up there, and for a second she was flat on her back, blinking up at the stars she’d long ago painted onto the ceiling. During the night and some of the darker daylight storms, they glowed in the same constellations she’d seen as a child, dayglo green against white plaster; she was going to have to paint over them before they left this place, and even though she already had the ceiling in her room on Edithae sketched out, it was going to hurt to cover that up. 

“Naasade?” Leaning over her, flushed and faintly damp, Sharya gave her a worried look. “Are you okay?”

“Definitely top five,” she muttered, letting out an ‘oof’ when Sharya’s head dropped to land on her sternum, a soft groan escaping her.

“I thought I broke you,” Naasade heard and grinned, digging fingers into hair and scritching. 

“You did,” she reassured the young woman. “But it was a good broke. In fact,” she tugged gently until Sharya followed her gaze up. “It was so good you made me see stars.”

“Tell me you didn’t do that solely for the pun,” she said flatly, and Naasade cackled before rolling them and sliding a hand between her legs.

“Nope, those were there long before you came along.” The glide of two fingertips against a slick clit and the way Sharya arched beneath her told Naasade that her kitten hadn’t gotten off yet, and her sated grin turned wicked. “Do me a favor, and let me know when you see more, ‘kay?”

—

Maybe twenty hurried yet satisfying minutes later, hair in need of a thorough brushing and her top mis-buttoned, Sharya made her way downstairs, flushed and grinning. There wasn’t time for a post-coital nap, but that’s what caffeine was for, and she was in the middle of sweetening a mug of kaff for Naasade when she heard a rhythmic knocking. 

Tilting her head, she automatically looked towards the foyer before switching her gaze to the balcony; the knocking had been too close for it to have been the main entrance, and just outside the double doors floated a small droid. Leaving the kaff stirring itself, she went to open the doors, confused when the pad stayed red at her handprint. It had worked just fine the other day. 

_ There’s a droid on the balcony, but the doors won’t open, _ she announced. “Hang on,” she called to it, trying the pad again. Still red, and she dropped the spoon, poking at the buttons and beginning to frown.

“Open,” it chirped mournfully, rain dripping from the plate-like head. “Delivery!"

_ Apparently, I forgot to turn off the security system this morning. _ No longer sounding quite as busy, nor feeling as shielded, Larec continued, _ I'll be there shortly. Go ahead and let it in. _

Not a second later, the pad under her hand flashed green, and she was finally able to let in the droid. Joined by a brief gust of rain—she was definitely wearing her cloak today, and made a note to dig it out from the hall closet—the little thing swooped in; staying low to the floor, it shook itself from side to side, shedding a sizable puddle on the wood, grumbling the whole time in a low, disgusted tone. “Nasty nasty wet.”

“Hey,” she yelped, yanking a towel from its place on the stove with the force and bending to mop up the water. “Don’t do that!”

Burbling, the droid darted away. “But was wet. Am now not wet.” The entire small body tilting with its head, it eyed her suspiciously, despite the lack of facial features. “You are not Jakkol. You are not Lightbreaker. You are not authorized.”

“Authorized for what, cleaning up after you?” Standing, she took the soaked towel to the sink to wring out; for such a tiny thing, it had brought a lot of water in with it. Cautiously rising to shoulder height, it followed her into the kitchen, arms shifting, and she blinked when what she had thought was an odd, oblong extension of the body turned out to be a sealed box; leaving the towel hanging over the faucet, she located another in a drawer next to the sink. “Here,” she said, tossing a second over the droid’s head as she passed. “You’re still dripping.”

“Mean!” Electronic voice rising as it berated her, the covered droid jerked in place, fumbling to grab at the cloth without dropping its package or breaking a sensor antennae. “Mean to U4!”

“Yup, I’m so mean,” Sharya muttered. Kneeling once again, she twitched the towel off and held it still as she chased water from the corners of wall and floor; maybe the droid would take the hint, since the three-fingered pinchers had yet to relinquish the box. “If you don’t want to dry off before you leave, fine with me. Stay nasty wet.”

“Mean organic,” it muttered. “Trying to trick U4.” Its voice got louder. “You are not authorized. Delivery is for _ Lightbreaker. _ Or Jakkol,” it added almost as an afterthought, drifting close enough that one spindly arm brushed fabric. It buzzed faintly when the towel stayed in place, and then started rubbing itself dry, apparently used to invisible hands holding things.

Swiping one last time at the floor, she carefully balled the towel up midair and shifted the thick rug back into place; it had gotten hung up on the bottom corner of the door, otherwise it would have caught the water from the droid’s entrance. Sitting back on her heels, she eyed it curiously. “Am I still unauthorized if I say I’m Larec’s apprentice?”

Making a derisive blatting sound, it finished drying off and pulled away; one all over shake later and it said firmly, “Prior interactions with Lightbreaker indicates no being exists. Mean organic is lying.”

“It’s a recently filled position,” she started to say, but the droid had stiffened from the gentle bobbing it had been doing and hovered in place, as if struck by a realization; as soon as her mouth opened, the droid shot backwards, and then turned towards the foyer, screaming for Larec.

_ Are you even kidding me right now, _ she thought exasperatedly, letting the dripping towels fall with a splat to grab at the droid instead. There wasn’t anything for it to break, but she had a feeling that Naasade might try to shoot it, and she didn’t want the little nuisance to get hurt on her account.

"Unauthorized," it shrieked when she wrapped the force around it, squirming and struggling to reach the stairs; the droid had made it into the living room, and its head flipped back to watch as she got closer. "Mean organic is intruder! Lightbreaker! Intruder!"

The panicked shouts were enough like her own yesterday that she flinched, and immediately adjusted her grip, cradling the little thing in a cage instead of holding it by the scruff. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she snapped, abruptly exhausted as she turned to shuffle back into the kitchen.

“Liar,” the droid shrilled behind her. “Wait for Lightbreaker, mean organic will be sorry!”

She had just settled on the floor in front of the silently glowering droid, a fresh mug of tea in hand, when boots appeared at the head of the stairs. Gaze dropping back to her tea, she breathed a sigh and leaned into the hand that sank into her hair a minute later. "Did Naasade wear you out too much?"

At the same time, the droid jerked up from its resentful hovering to fixate on Larec. "Lightbreaker! Mean organic is rude and intruder and liar! Save me!"

"A little," she answered, ignoring the outburst; twitching her mug, she continued, "Mr Squawky here made it worse. He tried to bring half the storm in with him."

"Am not Squawky!" Oblivious to how it was proving her point, it said, "Am U4-O1!"

"He can be overly excitable," Larec allowed after a moment of petting her, sounding as if he had chosen his words carefully. Ruffling her curls one last time, he held the same hand out to her. "Time to get dressed, little one."

Climbing carefully to her feet (even with his help, her tea came perilously close to sloshing over the rim and splashing her) she pressed close to Larec; the droid buzzed angrily, and she cast a sly look at it, nuzzling her cheek into his chest before speaking. “How come everyone and their droid knows you didn’t have an apprentice?”

Pointedly ignoring the byplay, he wrapped an arm around her before tucking her head under his chin. “Let him go,” he said. Only a little guiltily, she dissolved the cage around U4-O1, who chittered in surprise before ducking into the kitchen, still clutching his box. “Most others would have had two or even three apprentices by now. You have the dubious honor of being my first.”

Sharya had the feeling that there was more to it than he was saying, but nodded, beginning to pull away. She was stopped by the arm around her waist tightening, keeping her close, and she squeaked, looking up to see that Larec’s eyes were glowing and hungry. 

“My tease of an apprentice,” Larec rumbled, tangling hair around his fingers as he cupped the back of her head. “Later, you’re going to be taking care of_ this-” _ his hips rolled against her, and she shivered at how his cock ground against her; he'd done his best not to pay attention to the two playing, but there was only so much a man could ignore, and he ached with how hard he still was “-understand?”

The violet eyes looking up to him darkened, irises shrinking as a flush stained her cheeks even darker. “Yes, master,” she whispered, opening obediently to his tongue when he tilted her back further. 

In the kitchen, U4-O1 made a horrified noise. “Lightbreaker, no! It’s a trap!”

Annoyed by the droid’s interruption, he broke the kiss to bite down on Sharya’s neck, dragging a moan from her; saving the mug of tea from her slackening grip, he continued gnawing at one of the bruises Naasade had just left, until the red mark had gone a blotchy purple, and she had grabbed at his tunics, knees weak with pleasure. Giving the new hickey one last soothing lick, he released her, smirking at the way she unthinkingly leaned back towards him. “Get upstairs, and finish wrapping your ‘saber,” he told her, handing back her tea. “I’d like to see it when you’re done.”

Dazed, Sharya nodded again, cradling the mug in her hands as she turned to the stairs. He’d taken a step toward the kitchen when she stopped, and flipped right back around, her flush deepening as she grinned sheepishly. “Almost forgot Naasade's kaff.”

“Oh no,” he deadpanned, “whatever would she do without more.”

The droid stayed well away from Sharya as she retrieved the mug that had been waiting on the counter, swooping to the opposite side of the island and muttering at her in binary as she moved. Except for sticking her tongue out at it, she ignored U4, her good mood brightening the bond once again, and he crossed his arms, eyeing the droid. 

“You upset her,” he said sternly, once Sharya had disappeared up the stairs. “Will I need to tell Rina or are you going to apologize, and alter your memory banks on your own?”

Buzzing softly, the droid shifted from side to side, carefully not looking at him. “Memory banks updated,” U4 finally stated, tone stiff. “Mean Organic is Lightbreaker’s Apprentice. Apology offered.”

“Her name is Sharya.”

“Entry corrected,” it said in quick response to the growl in his words, shrinking down towards the floor. _ “Sharya _ is Lightbreaker’s Apprentice.”

“Good droid. My package?” Taking the small box from the droid, he peeled the protective wrapping from the thing, eyeing the item inside critically. “It won’t require any outside power?”

“Power cell will last for years, mistress says,” the droid buzzed. “Recharges through skin contact.” One pincher reached into a compartment, and withdrew a tiny pouch; through the fabric, he could feel two small straight shapes, and slipped the pouch into a pocket.

“Excellent. Tell her to give herself an appropriate tip, she’s outdone herself.” 

—

Wrapping the handle took longer than sliding and locking the casings together, and Larec arrived just as she was tying the last knot.

Relaxing her jaw, she pulled the hilt away from where she had tightened the knot with her teeth and twisted around on the stool, absently running fingers along the cylinder to check for any unevenness in the wrapping. Feeling flat, soft leather instead of bare metal was odd, changing the grip’s thickness just enough that she would have to consciously get used to it, but every bit of the text was hidden, and she held back a sigh; she probably should have just done the inevitable, and picked out one of the lightsaber grips she had seen yesterday along with the other parts.

“Is it finished?”

Glancing up from the now unfamiliar hilt in her hands, she nodded. “Just have to turn it on.”

Nodding, Larec held a hand out; obediently, she presented it to him, confused when he grinned. “Other one.”

A little suspicious now—that grin was growingly recognizable as her master feeling mischievous—she gave him her left hand; he flipped it so that her palm was up, and slid something to the base of her middle finger. Cold slithered around her wrist next, Larec tsking at her when she tried to peek; he held her still just long enough after to press a kiss to the sensitive skin of her palm, releasing her to blink and then gasp at the thing circling her wrist.

Shimmering in the full spectrum lights, a thin band of woven silver had been fastened around her; delicate silver chains, beaded with small purple stones, formed a dainty web across the back of her hand to end at the ring at the base of her finger. Tilting her wrist made the beads glitter, while the larger stone embedded in the middle of the bracelet shone with sparks of amethyst fire. A closer look at the ring showed that a dragon’s skull had been etched into the metal, two tiny golden stones glittering at her from the eye sockets; something shivered inside her when she realized it was the same beast inked across his back, but she was too shocked to question it.

Tearing her eyes from the sparkly thing was hard, and she finally managed it, looking back at Larec to sputter, “I-I can’t wear this, what if it breaks? I don't want to lose it!"

Still grinning, he hooked one finger into the web, and yanked; startled, she was pulled off the stool and into him, where she caught herself with a squawk, checking on the bracelet worriedly.

Aside from digging into her, the taut chains were fine, and she switched her bewildered gaze back up to him. “It won’t break,” he rumbled, placing a hand at the small of her back to keep her close, and letting the chains drop to rest cool against her skin. “Rina makes her jewelry to last, little one. And you won’t lose it; see?” Large fingers turned her arm over, baring the clasp; a u-shaped shackle secured it, and he pointed out a small hole on the bolt’s bottom. “She sent over a key as well.”

She'd heard of jewelry coming with keys—many royal families had locking mechanisms built into the jewels they passed down—but never had she thought that she would be given something similar. "A key? Why?"

"Because this-" he tugged at the web, far easier than the last, golden eyes serious when she looked "-is protecting something precious to me."

Protecting? But it was just a bracel—

"Consider it something of a Sith custom." Lips pressed to one corner of her mouth in a chaste kiss. "Would you like me to secure it, my apprentice?"

Eyes closing as he shifted to kiss the other, she spent a moment debating; she didn't want to take even a chance of losing the beautiful thing in the huge building they were about to go to, and also didn't like the idea of someone trying to take it from her. With how sturdy it already proved—strong enough to haul her bodily without even twisting wrong—surely the only way it would be taken from her after locking it would be if they took her hand as well. The only thing keeping her from immediately agreeing was the fact that _ she _ wouldn’t be able to remove the bracelet, either, not without him to unlock it for her; but it was a negligible weight at the end of her arm, the web easily loose enough that she shouldn’t lose any range of motion in that hand...

Exhaling slowly, she nodded, a soft sound leaving her at the still gentle touch of Larec's lips finally landing solidly on hers. 

The click of the key turning in the tiny lock sent a shiver down her spine, and she sat back down, scooting the stool behind him as he finally took her saber in hand, examining it just as closely as he had in the cell. 

"It is a little bit heavier, isn't it," he mentioned idly, weighing it one-handed; Sharya nodded, looking up from where she was tracing the silver with her fingertips. 

"I think it’s the heat sink and insulators," she said, going back to feeling the individual links of the chain; the rings had been sealed together, and didn't look like they would get stuck in her hair if she absently started playing with it. It was better to concentrate on that than the phantom heat kissing the curve of her neck, the faint, cold pressure forming at wrists and ankles. 

Humming, he flipped the hilt back around, thumbing the activation switch; with a sharp _ snap-hiss, _ the blade emerged, and she frowned at the beam. Yesterday morning, it had been a bright, golden-yellow, but today, it glowed bronze. A slight scuffing noise from the door at her back made her twitch, muscles tensing before she realized who it was, head twisting to watch as Naasade set down a blaster with a click. 

“Thanks for the warning,” the mandalorian snarked; warmth pressed against Sharya’s back and an arm curled under her breasts, dragging her flush against Naasade’s front; not yet in her beskar, the black armor weave bodysuit smelled of old discharge and smoke, and her fingers went white-knuckled where she tangled their hands together. “You know unexpected lightsaber noises make me twitch.”

“My pleasure,” Larec smirked, ignoring the eyeroll that got. The beam disengaged with another _ snap-hiss _, and he presented the hilt to his apprentice. “Did you change the main crystal as well as the focus stones?”

Hesitantly accepting it with her free hand, Sharya shook her head, gaze dropping to the leather. “Just the focuses,” she replied, “It shouldn’t have changed, though, not unless--” She broke off, biting her lip; behind her, Naasade nuzzled at blonde curls reassuringly, settling more firmly against her as she looked up, nerves spiking the bond between them. “Master, is there tim--”

“Sharya.” 

Her jaw snapped closed, and she paled a little more.

“It’s going to be okay. Today, all you have to do is fill out the paperwork to become a citizen, and after we meet with the council, we’re coming straight home.” 

“He’s right, kitten," Naasade added. "You’re a Sith now, there’s not much they can do without pissing off every other Sith lord with a former Jedi as an apprentice."

It was obvious she didn’t believe them, but Sharya finally swallowed, and nodded, and accepted the embrace he offered, the arms about his waist squeezing just a bit too tightly. The hug Naasade got was just as tight, judging by the huff of breath that escaped her, and then Sharya left to get dressed, the bond shivering in his mind.

~fin

  
  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [reality is broken (the stars are so wrong here)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229606) by [PhantomFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomFox/pseuds/PhantomFox)


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